


Get Thee in Front of Me

by Cameo (CameoSF)



Series: Dancing in the Light [3]
Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: M/M, Pendroch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameoSF/pseuds/Cameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murdoch gets involved in a questionable form of therapy, much to his friends' concern. (Sequel to 'The Unfairest Sex'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Thee in Front of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Includes 'off-screen' non-consentual sex.

**Get Thee in Front of Me**

Station No. 4 hadn’t been busy all day, and for the last half hour, Detective William Murdoch had occupied himself by drawing up a timeline of his relationship with James Pendrick. Their love affair had started long after they’d met and only after many unfortunate accusations and arrests, and even once they’d become friends, it had been a slow process. The usual milestones of a courtship had been spaced out over many months, and William was undecided which date qualified as their anniversary: it could have been the day he agreed to literally sleep with James, or the day they’d first made love, or the day they’d given themselves to each other in the deepest sense. There were other days that were equally significant, and he’d had to resort to a diagram to determine how they fit together. Granted it wasn’t the most productive use of his time, but it pleased him to put it on paper.

His sticking point was the rings. When James had presented him with a wedding band about six months earlier, Murdoch had been stunned and moved beyond words. He and Pendrick had worn their matching bands on chains around their necks ever since, but Murdoch had considered themselves married in spirit long before that.

When Constable Crabtree came to the open doorway of his office, Murdoch quickly slid his timeline under some other documents on his desk. Crabtree wouldn’t have been shocked to see it, but he would certainly have wondered about Murdoch’s unusually frivolous state of mind.

“You’ve received some mail, Sir,” Crabtree said, offering two envelopes. Murdoch accepted them and looked them over; one was postmarked British Columbia, the other had no return address or postage and was marked ‘private’. “That one was delivered by a young lad I recognized from the neighborhood, so I daresay the sender is local.”

“Thank you, George.”

As soon as he was alone, Murdoch folded his diagram and slipped it into his pocket, then opened the first of the envelopes. As he’d surmised, it was from his half-brother Jasper, a member of the North-West Mounted Police. Since meeting as adults, they’d corresponded very rarely, the last time being when Jasper invited Murdoch to his wedding. Murdoch had sent his regrets; he still wasn’t sure how he felt about discovering his father’s second family, and in any case that wouldn’t have been the appropriate occasion to get better acquainted.

Jasper’s news was again momentous: he and his wife were pleased to announce the birth of their first child. Murdoch had all but given up the possibility of having a family, and for the first time he decided he’d like to stay in touch with his brother. He immediately wrote a letter of congratulations and posted it on the way home from the station.

When he arrived at the house he found Pendrick on the back terrace hanging wires and cords to aid his latest project: a device capable of switching between direct and alternating current. The companies that marketed each type of electricity wanted all or nothing, but Pendrick claimed there was no reason not to have a choice even after one or the other had been installed. Murdoch had requested he run his experiments outside after a faulty line had caused the ballroom curtains to smoke.

“You look happy,” Pendrick observed as he strung a wire over the doorway to the former music room, the only room that opened directly onto the terrace. He’d already hung several lanterns and other small electrical items to test his currents.

“I am,” Murdoch told him. As soon as Pendrick’s hands were empty, he pulled his partner into his arms and kissed him till he ran out of breath. When let go Pendrick looked perplexed, so Murdoch explained. “I’m an uncle. I have a newborn nephew.”

“The Mountie?” Pendrick guessed, since Murdoch’s sister the nun was unlikely to be responsible.

“The boy’s name is Casper.”

“His family is still out west, are they not?”

“Yes, along with my father, to the best of my knowledge.”

“Perhaps we should consider taking a vacation sometime soon.”

“We’ll give the proud parents time to adjust,” Murdoch decided. Pendrick didn’t argue; he’d once said he had no interest in children, so Murdoch let it go.

They went inside to prepare for dinner. When Murdoch would have headed toward the dining room, however, Pendrick steered him into the ballroom.

“I have a new recording,” he said, turning on the Victrola. “Could you be flexible this evening?”

“Of course.”

They began dancing to the music, gliding smoothly across the floor. Pendrick led, but he didn’t initiate the rapid waltz Murdoch expected. Instead he held Murdoch close and directed his movements more precisely than usual. It wasn’t until the piece soared to an end that Murdoch understood why: Pendrick stopped them in place and dipped Murdoch backwards, his arm as firm and steady as steel around Murdoch’s waist. Murdoch made an undignified noise as his view of the room turned upside down, but it was over quickly, and his partner righted him with a mischievous smile.

“That’s _not_ what I thought you meant,” Murdoch stated as he straightened his clothing.

Pendrick chuckled, then leaned down to pick up several papers that had fallen out of Murdoch’s breast pocket. “If I’d told you what I had in mind, you might have refused.”

“I might have been afraid I’d land on my head.” Murdoch had to laugh too, because the other was nothing if not strong. He’d managed to support Murdoch’s full weight without any effort.

“What is this?” Pendrick asked suddenly. He handed Murdoch the two envelopes in order to unfold and peruse Murdoch’s diagram. “Another slow day at the station?”

Murdoch nodded, realizing that in his excitement over having a nephew, he’d forgotten to open the second letter. He did so now, puzzled by its vagueness.

‘ _Detective Murdoch, might we meet privately to discuss a matter of possible interest to you? If so, please join me at eight o’clock this evening at the THI. Yours, J.C._ ’

Pendrick had pocketed the timeline. “Who is J.C.?”

“I’m guessing that it’s Jeffrey Campbell,” Murdoch said, because Jeffrey was a gentleman with good reason to be cryptic. “I’ll try not to be late back.”

After dinner he borrowed the carriage to drive out to Dr. Roberts’ psychiatric institute. The name of the Toronto Hospital for Incurables was a misnomer; Murdoch knew for a fact that some of its inmates had recovered and been discharged. Its depressing title merely told people up front that the facility would accept the worst sort of cases and that anyone committed there might not ever leave.

He was met in the lobby by Jeffrey, who looked inordinately relieved to see him.

“Thank you for coming on a Saturday evening, Detective Murdoch,” the tall man said. “Dr. Roberts is allowing us special access to one of his patients tonight. He’s hoping you can help too.”

“How can _I_ help?”

As they traversed several short corridors, Jeffrey explained the situation. Although they didn’t pass anyone along the way, he kept his voice low.

“The patient’s name is Michael Llewellyn. I met him when he was seeing a good friend of mine, Thaddeus Ross. They were only together a few months. Michael is young,” Jeffrey glanced at Murdoch and shrugged, “and he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. Thaddeus cared for him, but he let Michael go because his family was threatening to disown him. After that Michael wasn’t seen in our circles for several weeks. He turned up yesterday at a casual gathering, and I was present when Thaddeus greeted him. All Thaddeus did was try to embrace him, and Michael laid into him with a brass candlestick. He was berserk.”

“What reason did he give?”

“He didn’t. The rest of us pulled him off Thaddeus, and he fought us for several minutes, then just crumbled. He curled into a ball and wouldn’t speak.”

“And Thaddeus?”

“He’s in City Hospital with a concussion. He’s expected to recover, but Michael may not. One of us contacted his family, and his parents came right over and took him away. I called every mental facility in Toronto, and I’m sure I was only able to find out they’d sent him here because I know Dr. Roberts personally.”

Murdoch didn’t like the sound of this. “Weren’t the police notified?”

“No.” Jeffrey halted and faced him. “We told Thaddeus’ doctors that he was attacked by a drunkard on the street. Michael’s family has requested that no one here alert the police on the grounds that he is incapable of understanding what he’s done. He could hardly stand trial in his condition. They spoke as if they’re satisfied to leave him here.”

“Then why have you brought me in?”

Instead of answering, Jeffrey opened the door of the room in front of them. The small space contained only a bed and a rocking chair, but both were occupied. A young man with unruly blond hair sat in the chair, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. Dr. Roberts sat facing him on the bed, where he’d evidently been talking quietly to his patient.

“Detective Murdoch,” he said at once, rising and approaching. The man in the chair seemed oblivious to more visitors. “Let’s talk in the hall.”

Murdoch eyed Michael as the door closed on him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see why I’m here. If the police aren’t to be involved, there’s nothing I can do.”

“I _want_ the police involved,” Dr. Roberts told him sharply. “Something has happened to that young man, and his parents won’t talk to me. I can’t help him unless I know what caused his change in behavior, his sudden rage at someone he’d previously liked.”

“I can write up a report -”

“No,” Jeffrey said quickly. “If Michael’s crime is handled officially, people will find out the nature of his and Thaddeus’ relationship. I can’t allow that. Thaddeus is unconscious and depending on me.”

Murdoch exhaled, finally understanding his role there. He had a strong suspicion that Dr. Roberts now knew he was homosexual, and he felt a little out-numbered. “What you want is for me to question his parents as a representative of the law. Put pressure on them to cooperate.”

“It’s for Michael’s welfare,” Dr. Roberts reminded him. “I am confident they won’t complain to your superior because they don’t want their son’s proclivities known any more than we do.”

That was a chance Murdoch was willing to take, since even if the Llewellyns did protest to Inspector Brackenreid, there was no reason for anyone to assume he shared those proclivities.

“Has Michael said anything at all since he was brought in?” He turned to Jeffrey. “You said you saw him yesterday before he went berserk. Was he behaving normally?”

Jeffrey answered first. “He seemed fine, a little nervous perhaps. He was always shy among our friends, so I didn’t think it odd that he wasn’t saying much. He looked a little thinner than before, but not as if he’d been ill.”

“He hasn’t said anything coherent,” Dr. Roberts added. “Last night we discovered that the darkness terrifies him. He started shouting that there were demons in the dark, so we left his lamp on all night. Other than that, he hasn’t communicated.”

Murdoch decided it wasn’t worth trying to speak to Michael directly. Memorizing the address of the young man’s parents, he promised to pay them a visit soon.

Back at home he opted not to explain the meeting to Pendrick. Jeffrey’s persuasion and circle of friends were unknown to him, and Murdoch saw no reason to reveal them now. He simply said that it had been police business.

 *****

The Llewellyns lived in a fashionable neighborhood, and Murdoch wasn’t surprised that it was a maid who answered his knock when he arrived first thing Monday morning. She showed him to a stringently neat parlor where he waited only a few minutes for Michael’s parents to come in. They were also impeccably neat, and upon seeing his badge exchanged the first of many meaningful looks.

“Our son’s situation is not a police matter,” Mrs. Llewellyn told him as soon as Michael’s name was mentioned. She sat on the edge of a chair and let her husband hover beside her. “He is a very sick boy, and the doctor at the hospital assures us he needs to stay there.”

“I understand that,” Murdoch replied. “I’m not here to try to press charges of any kind. I’m interested in what might have caused his illness. According to a witness to the incident, Michael seemed fine before his unprovoked attack. Had he shown any signs of violence at home?”

They shared a glance. “No, he’s been a bit irritable, but not violent.”

“Irritable in what way?”

“Short-tempered, jumpy. We attributed it to fatigue, because he hadn’t been sleeping well.”

“Insomnia?”            

“Night terrors. He used to have terrible nightmares when he was small. They started again a few weeks ago.”

“Did anything happen around that time that could have provoked them?”

Another glance, but Mrs. Llewellyn continued to do the talking. “Not that we’re aware of. Michael has always been delicate. He was seeing another doctor for it.”

Murdoch’s ears pricked up. “Can you be more specific? Was this a medical doctor?”

“Not exactly. Marcus?”

Mr. Llewellyn cleared his throat. “Dr. Carruthers is a specialist in diseases of the mind. We heard wonderful things about him and were fortunate enough to be able to send Michael to his clinic for treatment. Michael was making excellent progress, until this.”

“By ‘disease of the mind’, do you mean homosexuality?”

Mrs. Llewellyn turned bright red. “You have no proof -”            

“Yes,” her husband said, earning himself an entirely different look. “The doctor has treated many men of that sort, and he’s been able to cure nearly half of them. He gave us references.”

“Cure?” Murdoch repeated blankly. “He cured them of being homosexual?”

“Would you please stop using that word?” Mrs. Llewellyn requested.

“I beg your pardon.” He turned to Mr. Llewellyn in bewilderment. “I’ve always understood that the condition is not curable.”

“Dr. Carruthers has pioneered a treatment he calls ‘Inversion Therapy’. Michael never gave us all the details, but we could see him getting better after the first couple of sessions. He wasn’t as glum or as introverted. We had high hopes for it.”

“What do you think happened to turn him around?”

Mrs. Llewellyn inserted herself back into the conversation. “He stopped going to his treatments, that’s what happened. We argued about it. Michael claimed the doctor was putting ideas in his head that weren’t his own. Well, that was the purpose of going, was it not?”

Murdoch closed his notebook since he hadn’t written anything down since the word ‘cure’ was uttered. “Did he ever describe these ideas?”

“No, not really. We could see that he was taking notice of women for the first time. And he’d started showing a bit of spine.” Mr. Llewellyn rested his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We were completely taken aback when we received that phone call from one of them, the men he’d used to socialize with. We had no idea he’d gone back to that.”

“I think that’s what did it,” Mrs. Llewellyn stated. “Being around them again. It was being reminded of the sort of life he’d escaped that drove him over the edge.”

“He went there of his own volition, did he not?” Murdoch asked.

Their shared look included a mutual shrug this time. “I suppose it’s possible he was coerced into going,” she began.

“I meant could revisiting that life have been part of his treatment?”

“I doubt that. He hadn’t seen Dr. Carruthers in over a week.”

“Is Dr. Carruthers’ clinic here in Toronto?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Mr. Llewellyn explained, “We met with him in a café. Due to the sensitive nature of his treatment, he only has his patients come to his offices. Family members are interviewed off site.”

“You mentioned references. Could I see them?”

“We don’t have them. We were shown written declarations the day we met, and obviously we weren’t given names.”

“How did you hear of him?”

“An acquaintance of ours went through a similar trial with one of his sons. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give any more information than that.”

Murdoch had almost forgotten Dr. Roberts’ concern. “One more question, then I’ll leave you in peace. Do you know what Michael’s night terrors were about? Was he afraid of the dark?”

Mrs. Llewellyn nodded. “Just like when he was a child.”

“Except for the demons,” her husband added. “He never dreamed about incubi or succubae when he was a lad. Wouldn’t even have known what they were.”

“Incubi?” Murdoch repeated incredulously. “Succubae? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I thought it was the oddest thing to be having nightmares about, but Michael always was an odd duck.”

Murdoch thanked them for their time and let the maid show him out, a bit befuddled. Whatever he’d hoped to learn from the interview, it certainly wasn’t all this.

His next stop was at the THI. Dr. Roberts was a very busy man, but he made time to meet with Murdoch once he learned that Michael’s parents had been forthcoming. He was waiting in Michael’s room when Murdoch arrived.

The young man in question did not appear to have moved from the previous evening. His hair hung over half his face, and he was motionless even in the rocker. He gave no indication that he was aware of the doctor’s presence, although Roberts stood directly in front of him.

“Michael?” Roberts said evenly. “This is Detective Murdoch of the Toronto constabulary. He’s helping me find out what brought you here. He’s a friend of Jeffrey. Do you remember Jeffrey?” He beckoned Murdoch over to stand beside him, then continued in a lower voice, “Michael doesn’t like to have people standing behind him. He needs to be able to see them.”

“Has he spoken?” Murdoch asked.

“No, but his body language is very clear, and according to Mr. Campbell, Mr. Ross approached Michael from behind the evening he was bludgeoned.” Roberts faced Murdoch. “Did the Llewellyns tell you anything useful?”

“I suspect so. Could we talk somewhere else?”

“That sounds encouraging.” The doctor turned to his patient. “I’ll be back soon, Michael.”

They went to Roberts’ office, which Murdoch had been in before and knew contained more books on psychiatry and mental health studies than the city library. He’d wondered how the doctor decided on a course of treatment from all the diverse possibilities he’d researched.

“Have you ever heard of Inversion Therapy?” Murdoch asked once they were seated.

Roberts raised an eyebrow. “No, but I can guess its intention just by its name. Is this something Michael’s parents concocted?”

Murdoch repeated what he’d been told about Dr. Carruthers and his clinic. He half expected Roberts to chime in with his own version of the treatment, or at the very least to pull a volume down from a shelf and look it up. Instead his gaze hardened and his tone was cool when he finally spoke.

“This sounds like a dangerous and self-serving process,” he said, his British accent making his words sound even more clipped. “Homosexuality cannot be cured because it is not an illness. That’s like saying one can be cured of liking the color blue. It’s a personality trait, deeply ingrained from childhood, if not from birth. Traits like that cannot be changed without disrupting the patient’s psyche.” He had a formidable scowl. “As has obviously occurred with Michael.”

“You’ve never heard of this doctor?” Murdoch asked.

“No, I haven’t, and if I ever meet the man I’ll see about having his medical license revoked. Assuming he has one.”

“What about his references? The Llewellyns said he’s cured nearly half of those he’s treated.”

Roberts wasn’t having it. “Cured in what way? For how long? If the treatment works, why is Michael here in the state he’s in?” He looked angry enough to blow steam. “All the man is doing is giving his patients false hope and leaving them with years of additional therapy to look forward to.”

“I see.”

“What are you going to do, Detective? Can you bring charges against him?”

Murdoch had been mulling that over. “Not without evidence. Michael can’t speak for himself, so we’ll have to find someone else who’s undergone the treatment, is unhappy with it, and is willing to testify. That might not be easy, and there still might not be a crime involved.”

“Could you and Jeffrey ask your acquaintances? This sort of thing must be talked about in the homosexual community. ”

Murdoch kept his expression neutral. “I’ll ask Jeffrey for his help.”

He’d intended to meet with the latter again anyway, so that’s where Murdoch went next, managing to intercept Jeffrey as he left his office for lunch. Jeffrey invited Murdoch to accompany him to the City Hospital where he meant to look in on his friend.

“Does your presence here mean you’ve learned something helpful?” he asked along the way. “Did the Llewellyns agree to see you?”

Murdoch again related what they’d said, and then described Dr. Roberts’ reaction to it. He’d anticipated a response similar to his own, but Jeffrey seemed more peeved than thunderstruck.

“If I had a dime for every ‘cure’ that’s been proposed, I’d be a wealthy man,” he grumbled as they walked. “I feel sorry for those who are taken in by such trickery; they must be desperate to change.”

“Have you ever heard of this particular cure?”

“No, but I’ll see what I can discover. If this doctor has been in Toronto for a while, someone must know about him, or how would his patients find him?”

That was a good point.

Murdoch left him when they reached the hospital and finally made an appearance at Station No. 4. To his relief it was another slow day and his very late arrival wasn’t an issue.

He spent the afternoon reading through copies of the Toronto Gazette and other local newspapers, looking for any advertisement that might lead to Dr. Carruthers’ clinic. There were a great many ambiguously worded offers, but by the end of the day, he’d narrowed the possibilities to four. Noting the directions, he decided to visit them the following morning.  

*****

The first three addresses turned out to be establishments of another sort all together. Having received a variety of indecent proposals and jotting down a few names to assign to Constable Crabtree for future action, Murdoch came to the fourth location, a small building packed in between two larger, more ornate structures. Its very inconspicuousness told him he might be in the right place.

No one answered the bell. A drawn shade blocked most of the view inside, but through one narrow slice of the glass door he could see a directory displaying ‘M. Carruthers, MD’. Murdoch pulled out his notebook once more and wrote a brief request to meet. He was deliberately as vague as the advertisement he was answering, and finished by saying he would be having tea at the café opposite the clinic for the next half hour if anyone were available to speak with him. Slipping it under the door, he crossed the street and entered the tea shop.

Murdoch had been served and was contemplating his next move should no one show up, when a rotund elderly gentlemen with a cane strolled in. He hadn’t come from the building Murdoch had visited; he’d been watching the front door, and it had remained closed. However the gentleman came directly to Murdoch’s table and seated himself with a warm smile.

“I believe you wished to see me,” he said. “I am Dr. Morris Carruthers.”

Murdoch was about to display his badge, when he had a different idea. “Yes, thank you for coming here so quickly. I wasn’t sure how to make an appointment.”

“You did the right thing. I have a rigid screening process for new patients. May I ask how you found me?”

“I saw an advertisement in the Gazette. It sounded promising, although I couldn’t quite determine what service you were offering.” Murdoch chose his words carefully. “I was hoping for assistance with a personal problem, one most doctors aren’t willing or able to treat. One that must be kept in the strictest confidence. Have I interpreted your service correctly?”

Carruthers nodded once. “I suspect you have. May I ask a few personal questions?” Murdoch copied his gesture. “Is your problem of a sexual nature?”

“It is.”

“Are you familiar with the word ‘invert’?”

Murdoch acted relieved to have it out in the open. “Yes. You do understand my situation.”

“And what sort of assistance are you seeking?”

Now he hesitated. His decision to impersonate a potential patient had been spontaneous and not thought out. He tried to imagine what Carruthers’ usual supplicants would say. “I’d like my problem to disappear once and for all.”

The doctor nodded again. He signaled the waitress for another cup and settled back in his chair. “May I know your first name?”

“William.”

“Well, William, I think you’ve found the answer to your prayers. I’ve been highly successful in working with cases like yours.” Carruthers filled his cup from the teapot and raised it to his lips, drinking with obvious enjoyment. When he set it down he smiled again. “I confess I’m something of a tea addict. You couldn’t have chosen a better place to meet.”

Murdoch tried to keep him on the subject. “When you say you’ve been successful, you mean other men like me have…?”

“They’ve turned their lives around. Gotten happily married, fathered children, been proud to walk down the street with their families.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this? If you can do what you say, why hasn’t every man like me come to you for treatment and told his friends about it? It sounds too good to be true.”

Carruthers finished his first cup and set it aside to clear a space on the table. Instead of replying, he pulled out a small journal and pen, and then a pipe and matches. As he lit the latter and began puffing on it, Murdoch realized why he hadn’t wanted to immediately challenge the man for medical chicanery. With his white hair and general roundness, he reminded Murdoch irresistibly of Santa Claus. The red vest he wore added to the effect, and when Carruthers looked up from his book, Murdoch could swear there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Let me guess what you’re thinking,” the doctor said. “That I look familiar?”

“Is your resemblance to Father Christmas deliberate?”

“Not in the beginning. One of my first patients told me I looked like the old elf and said I’d given him the best present he’d ever received. I took that as the highest compliment, so I’ve cultivated the look since then. It seems to help put my patients at ease.”

Murdoch was having a hard time distrusting him. “How long does your treatment take? And how much do you charge?”

“All in good time.” Carruthers opened his journal to a blank page. “I need to ask you a few questions first. I believe I can help you, but the exact path we take depends on many things. Are you willing to answer honestly, even if the questions are somewhat embarrassing?”

He was waiting with pen poised, so it was time for Murdoch to commit to his ruse or come clean. “Yes, I’ll answer honestly.”

Over the next half hour, Murdoch created on the fly a librarian who had been with a man in his past but was not currently in a relationship. He had no close family and had never been married or engaged. He had no particular religious affiliation, belonged to no clubs or associations, nor did he socialize with other homosexuals in the city. He was in effect a loner who was dedicated to his work, desperately wanted to lead a normal life, and would do whatever was necessary to make it happen.

They went through a second and then a third pot of tea. Carruthers drank most of it while he made notes in his journal, but Murdoch was unable to see what he wrote. He was wishing he could do the same, since he’d have to remember everything he told the man if he really meant to pursue this charade.

Finally Carruthers closed his book and slipped it and his pen back into his pocket. “William, I’m happy to say that I can absolutely help you.”

“That’s wonderful,” Murdoch said. “And the cost?”

“I require a heavy investment of time, I’m afraid. I want to see you three times per week for the next month, and the sessions could last several hours apiece. After that we’ll review your progress and decide how you’re doing.” Carruthers acknowledged his confusion. “That’s it. Once the treatment is complete, you may pay me what you feel it was worth. There’s no other monetary cost.”

“How can you stay in business if you don’t charge?”

“I’m privately funded, and to be frank, I expect the work I’m doing to pay for itself once I’ve published and made my name in the psychiatric community.”

Murdoch was struck momentarily dumb. Not only was the man likable, he was apparently sincere. “Then… when shall we begin?”

“I’d like to see you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Say seven o’clock?”

It was a Tuesday, so Murdoch agreed. He needed time to discuss this with Dr. Roberts, not to mention Pendrick. “I’ll be there tomorrow at seven.”

Carruthers stood up. He didn’t offer to shake hands, but otherwise bid Murdoch farewell as if they were two old friends who’d met for tea. Murdoch wondered if he was a regular at the café and whether the staff had any idea what sort of business he conducted there.

It was well past time for Murdoch to be at the station, so he went straight there, however much he wanted to confer with Roberts. Upon arriving, he was immediately sent by Inspector Brackenreid to the morgue where a body had been delivered that morning.

“Bloke was found dead on the street just after sunup,” Brackenreid informed him. “Must have keeled over some time last night and lay there till the dustmen came ‘round. No identification on him, so you and Dr. Ogden have your work cut out for you.”

That suited Murdoch, since solving a new case was just what he needed to distract him from what he’d agreed to do. Talking to Julia was also high on his list of priorities.

He found Julia up to her elbows in the open chest of the corpse. Crossing himself, Murdoch stood aside and watched her complete her examination. Her efficiency and sheer economy of movement never failed to impress him.

“Do you know what killed him?” he asked when she stepped back and pulled off her gloves.

She gave him a genuine smile despite the circumstances, then sighed. “He has no wounds or physical injuries. His organs are all healthy. Judging by the color of his lips and nails, I would guess he ingested either poison or some other toxic substance, but I won’t know for sure till I’ve analyzed the contents of his stomach.”

“Does it appear to be murder?”

“Or suicide or accident. I have no way of knowing yet.”

Murdoch studied the dead man’s face, which was ashen but still handsome. He appeared to have been in his late twenties. “Do you have the time of death?”

“Sometime between midnight and two o’clock this morning.”

“And nothing in his clothing to indicate where he was coming from or going?” Murdoch had been given the address where the body was found, but it was outside a downtown office building that had been vacated and locked up hours earlier. “Or how quickly the poison or toxin took effect?”

Julia cast him a fondly exasperated look. “Have you nothing else to do?” Before he could protest, she went on, “No, I won’t know anything useful until I’ve had a chance to analyze his stomach contents. Come back in a few hours.”

Murdoch left the morgue rather sheepishly and went to find Crabtree, whom he knew he could convince to go with him to the place the body was discovered. They might not find any new clues, but the constable could be counted on to be diverting.

At four o’clock Murdoch returned to the morgue to find Julia writing up her findings. She invited him to sit with her at her work table.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any definitive answers,” she said, glancing at the corpse now covered in the other room. “Aside from the normal remains of his evening meal, I found a half a dozen herbs and other natural ingredients in his stomach. None of them are toxic. It’s beginning to appear that the poor man had an allergic reaction.”

Murdoch tried to hide his disappointment that the death was most likely an accident. “We still don’t know his identity.”

“True. I’ve done all I can in that area. He has no distinguishing marks and physically there’s nothing unusual about him.” She leaned back to give Murdoch a sharper look. “You, on the other hand, appear decidedly guilty.”

“You know me too well,” Murdoch muttered. He told her briefly what he’d gotten himself entangled in, and her expression as he described the fictitious William made him wish he’d had time to invent a persona entirely unlike himself. He’d rarely seen her speechless, but that was where he left her at the end of his tale. “Julia?”

Her brows drew together. “William, you’re not seriously going to undergo this treatment, are you?” she demanded.

“No, of course not. I just want to see what it entails and whether it could be the cause of Michael Llewellyn’s breakdown.”

“And if it is?”

“Then Dr. Roberts will report him to the Medical Ethics Board.”

“I mean, what if whatever was done to Michael is done to you?”

“It won’t be. I only plan to attend a session or two. I should know by then whether Dr. Carruthers is responsible.” Murdoch knew very well what her other concern was. “I’m not seeking a cure, Julia, I promise you.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not the one you should be assuring.”

“James knows me,” Murdoch insisted. “He knows I don’t want anything to change.”

“Have you told him yet?” She took a deep breath when Murdoch didn’t answer. “Go home and tell him. Our John Doe can wait till tomorrow. You’ve got something more urgent to do this evening.”

Murdoch collected the deceased’s effects and returned to his office to examine them for evidence of the man’s movements prior to midnight. For the next hour he studied traces of dirt and fibers, but he wasn’t nearly as focused as he needed to be.   Finally he carefully bagged the clothing for next day and headed out. 

*****

Pendrick was at his desk in the library when Murdoch got home, tweaking his current converter with a minuscule screwdriver. When Murdoch walked in, he removed his magnifying glasses and smiled. A moment later he frowned.

“You’d better tell me now,” he requested half-seriously. “Or will it spoil dinner?”

Murdoch pulled a chair over, because this was going to take some time.

He began his story with his first encounter with Jeffrey while on a case several years earlier, explained why he’d contacted the man at the onset of his affair with Pendrick, and how thanks to Jeffrey’s introduction to Father Lanahan, Murdoch felt he owed him a favor. He described Dr. Roberts’ new patient and how he came to be at the THI, his interview with the young man’s parents, and his subsequent meeting with Dr. Carruthers. Up till that point Pendrick looked curious and somewhat perplexed; upon hearing of Murdoch’s intention to experience the treatment himself in the guise of a discontented librarian, he actually seemed intrigued.

“May I assume that Dr. Roberts will be monitoring you while you’re ostensibly under Dr. Carruthers’ care?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” Murdoch hadn’t thought to arrange that, but it made sense.

“I’d feel better if someone at the constabulary was aware of your subterfuge,” Pendrick mused, “but clearly that would be awkward. You’re correct that bringing Carruthers before a medical board would be less messy than having him arrested, especially for his patients. What does Julia say about this?”

Murdoch ignored his certainty that she’d already been told. “She thinks I’m taking a risk.”

“Perhaps, but between us we’ll notice if there are any changes in your behavior.”

“Do you honestly think there will be? In just a few sessions?”

“I think this doctor must be doing something drastic for men to believe they’ve been cured. And if one can be brought to the verge of a mental breakdown by his technique, whatever it may be, you’d better have some safeguards in place.” Pendrick considered for another minute. “In fact, I would like to be present when you talk to Dr. Roberts tomorrow. I want to be closely involved in this entire process.”

“Certainly.” Murdoch was a little surprised, but if he was fascinated by Dr. Carruthers’ treatment, it followed that his partner would be as well. Julia’s fears that Pendrick would distrust Murdoch’s motives were completely unfounded.

Next morning they stopped by the THI early, before Dr. Roberts began his rounds. He listened to Murdoch’s plan with a pained expression, then turned to Pendrick. Although they were meeting for the first time, the doctor’s presumption about his place in Murdoch’s life was a given.

“You support this idiocy?” he asked.

Pendrick raised both brows. “I’m almost tempted to do it myself.”

“We need to find out what Carruthers did to Michael,” Murdoch reminded Roberts. “Since I’m not going in seeking a cure, I’m not going to be as susceptible as he was. I’m also an experienced police officer in a stable relationship. Carruthers is not going to be able to disrupt my psyche, as you put it.”

The doctor’s gloom did not lessen. “I want you to come here if you notice the slightest alteration in your behavior. As soon as you have any evidence of Carruthers’ abuse of his position, you must stop seeing him. Mr. Pendrick, you must watch Detective Murdoch and contact me if you have any concerns. Otherwise, I will not condone this.”

“Understood,” Murdoch said.

Pendrick didn’t object, but on their way to the station to drop Murdoch off, he voiced his first doubt. “I was under the impression that Dr. Roberts was behind this scheme of yours. If he and Julia both have reservations, why are you so determined to go through with it?”

“Because if Carruthers is hurting people, someone has to put a stop to it.” Murdoch thought that was obvious.

“If Carruthers is hurting people, in his care is the last place I wish you to be.”

The carriage was moving along a mostly empty road, so Murdoch felt it was safe to clasp and quickly squeeze Pendrick’s hand. “There is nothing on this earth that can change how I feel about you,” he stated firmly. “Dr. Carruthers is in for a big disappointment.”

Pendrick’s lips compressed as they did when he was trying not to grin. “All right, my dear. I trust your judgment.”

After checking in with Inspector Brackenreid, Murdoch went over to the morgue. He needed to find out if there’d been any new developments regarding the identity of their John Doe, but he also wanted to assure Julia that his plot now had the backing of both Pendrick and Roberts. It bothered him that she thought he was being reckless.

“It could all be over by next week,” he pointed out when his promises seemed to fall short. “I’ll go to the session tonight and probably to the one on Friday. By then I might have all I need to clear him or to have his license revoked.”

Julia still looked unconvinced, but she didn’t argue. “Will you come by tomorrow when you have time and tell me about it?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you apprised every step of the way.”

“Well, fortunately for your appointment this evening, it appears our John Doe was not murdered. I’ve identified most of the herbs in his system, and they simply aren’t lethal in any combination. I think it was a tragic accident.”

“There haven’t been any missing person’s reports matching his description,” Murdoch added based on the update Brackenreid had given him. “I’ll look at his clothing again.”

Despite several more hours of focused examination, he wasn’t able to produce any specific clue as to where the man had come from. The grit on his shoes was such as would be found on any city street; his suit and under-garments were well made but were purchased off a rack and gave no indication how long he’d worn them. There were no finger marks on his belongings other than his own, and Julia confirmed that he had no foreign substances on his skin. They seemed to have reached a dead end.

At six o’clock Murdoch went home to have dinner with Pendrick, who was a bit quiet. His lack of an appetite was also unusual.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Murdoch asked.

“Yes. I suppose you’re not?”

“I’m eager to find out what Carruthers has in store for me,” he admitted. “He sounded so certain he could change my persuasion.”

“When should I begin to worry?” Pendrick inquired.

“You needn’t worry at all, but I’ll make sure I’m home by ten o’clock.”

When he set off on his bike soon afterwards, Murdoch left his badge behind, something he rarely did. En route he went over in his head William the librarian’s life story, coming up with small way to embellish it if necessary. He was sure he could pull this off. 

*****

This time when he rang the bell at Carruthers’ building, the doctor himself answered and ushered him inside. He was wearing a red smoking jacket, and as soon as Murdoch had followed him upstairs, he offered his guest a cup of tea from a cabinet overflowing with both foreign and domestic brands. The rest of the room exuded a similar homey ambiance: there were two leather chairs on either side of a small covered table, a fireplace blazing away on one wall, and a Victrola in the opposite corner. A slow melody was playing so softly Murdoch couldn’t quite recognize it.

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking,” he said.

“Good choice, I think you’ll like this blend.” Carruthers brought him a cup, then took one of the chairs. The one left to Murdoch was tilted back slightly and extended out at the foot so that when he sat down, he was practically reclining. It was positioned at right angles to the other chair so that Murdoch faced the fireplace.

“Don’t you have a nurse or assistant?” he asked, scanning the room. There were several other doors besides the one they’d come through, but other than the tea closet, all were closed with no lights showing beneath. “I was expecting a more traditional medical office.”

Carruthers was busy emptying his pockets of journal, pen, pipe and matches. “I want my patients to be as relaxed as possible,” he said, “to forget they’re in a psychiatrist’s presence. My goal is to remove all outside anxieties so that we can concentrate on the issue that brought you here.” He twinkled. “Is it working?”

Murdoch tasted his tea. “Yes. This is delicious.”

“One of my favorites from China.” Once he was settled, Carruthers turned down the lamp on the table between them so that the room seemed to fade around the edges. The color of the walls and carpet were very soothing, and Murdoch had to concede that the doctor knew what he was doing. “William, I’m going to give you some phrases to repeat to yourself whenever you need to remember why you’re here. They’re simple and may sound meaningless to you now, but over time, you’ll come to appreciate their truth. Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable.” Murdoch glanced at him to be sure he’d heard correctly, but Carruthers merely nodded. “Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable.”

“All right.” Murdoch repeated the phrases, mystified, but the doctor seemed satisfied.

“I’m going to talk to you for a while,” he went on. “What I say isn’t important. You can listen or not, as you choose. What is important is that you repeat those phrases to yourself while I’m speaking. You can even say them aloud if you like, I won’t mind.”

“… I don’t understand.”

“These phrases are to become your mantra, if you will. Do you know what a mantra is?”

“It’s an Eastern term for a phrase that has spiritual significance.”

Carruthers beamed. “Of course, I was forgetting that you’re a librarian. I want these phrases to become second nature to you, to run through your head whether you’re awake or asleep. The more you say them, the more you think them, the truer they will become for you.”

“I suppose that follows…”

“It will, I promise you.”

Murdoch settled more comfortably in the chair and began thinking the phrases over and over. He couldn’t help listening to what Carruthers was saying, but after lighting his pipe, the doctor simply began reciting a poem. His voice was deep and fluid, but the verse itself was long and redundant. Part of Murdoch’s mind tried to recall whether he’d heard it before, while another part tried to make out the apparently endless piece of music playing in the background. The rest of his mind floated freely, occasionally remembering to repeat the three phrases.

“William?” Carruthers raised his voice slightly.

“Yes?” Murdoch opened his eyes, only then realizing that he’d been dozing. “I beg your pardon, Sir. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s quite all right. It just proves that you’re relaxed here, which will benefit your treatment as it progresses.”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Not at all. But it’s getting late. You must have to work tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, I need to…” Murdoch’s mind had gone automatically to his job at Station No. 4, and he caught himself. If he hoped to continue this ruse, he’d need to both stay awake and stay in character. To cover his lapse, he pulled out his watch. “I slept for over an hour?”

“You must have had a long day.” Carruthers pocketed his journal, which Murdoch hadn’t even noticed him open, and turned up the lamp. “I look forward to seeing you again on Friday. In the meantime, be sure to repeat those phrases every time you think of them. You’ll be surprised how easy it becomes.” Murdoch stood up a bit unsteadily. “Take your time.”

The night air on his ride home helped clear Murdoch’s head. He almost hated to admit to Pendrick and Julia that he’d slept through most of the first session, but the reclining chair, the crackling fire and the soothing music had worked against him. He had no choice now except to go to another session on Friday.

Pendrick was catching up on correspondence at his desk when Murdoch got there, but he immediately set it aside and gave Murdoch his full attention. “How did it go?”

Murdoch dropped into his reading chair. “Women are beautiful, women are attractive, women are desirable,” he announced. His partner eyed him askance. “That’s my new mantra.”

“What was your old one?”

“Don’t fall asleep on the job.”

Pendrick burst out laughing. “Did you really?”

“Yes. Dr. Carruthers keeps his office entirely too warm.”

Murdoch recapped his evening’s activities in relatively short time. Other than the three phrases, it didn’t seem as if the first treatment had produced any lasting results. The mantra however had lodged itself firmly in his brain and he did in fact hear it in his dreams.

When he told Julia the same story next day, she wasn’t nearly as amused as Pendrick had been. Her first words were, “William, you were hypnotized!”

“Of course I wasn’t,” Murdoch protested, wondering where that notion had come from. “I simply fell asleep. Dr. Carruthers was reciting the most tedious poem ever composed -”

“How long were you under?”

“I was asleep for about an hour. Nothing happened; he just had me repeat those phrases over and over. If that’s what his cure is based on, it will take years to have any effect.”

She stared at him in incredulously. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

“You weren’t there, Julia. I guarantee I was not hypnotized.” He spoke as earnestly as he could. “On Friday, when I manage to stay awake for the entire session, you’ll see that it was nothing but an embarrassing gaff on my part. It won’t happen again.”

He wasn’t sure he’d convinced her, but she gave up arguing. That turned out to be fortunate, since Crabtree came in at that moment to tell him there’d been a double homicide at a bar on the waterfront. Murdoch was tied up with that for the rest of the day.

He didn’t mention Julia’s idea to Pendrick. On Friday he left for his appointment with renewed optimism and determination to stay alert. 

*****

Nothing had changed in Dr. Carruthers’ office, or in his routine. The man served Murdoch tea, let him get settled in the reclining chair, then pulled out his usual paraphernalia. The same obscure music played on the Victrola.

“Have you been repeating your mantra, William?” Carruthers asked, journal in hand.

“Day and night,” Murdoch said truthfully.

“Good. We’re off to an excellent start. This evening I’m going to show you some images to associate with those three phrases. You might find them shocking, but I’d like you to study them, absorb them, if you will.”

“Shocking in what way?”

Carruthers went to one of the closed doors and opened it to reveal another shallow cabinet. He removed a bulky object, then shut the door before Murdoch could see what else was inside. The object he brought over to Murdoch resembled a pair of goggles with a camera-like attachment. It was far clumsier looking than anything Pendrick had ever invented, but otherwise it reminded him of one of his partner’s devices.

“I call this a Personal Viewer,” Carruthers told him, displaying it rather proudly. “Once you’re wearing it, you’ll be able to see the images in relative privacy. I’ve found my patients prefer not to see them in company, and you’ll understand why shortly.”

“Did you make that?” Murdoch asked.

“I helped design it, yes.”

Carruthers arranged the goggles over Murdoch’s eyes, fastening one strap behind his head and another one over his crown. The camera piece wasn’t heavy, but without the second strap, Murdoch expected it would have been unbalanced. Once in place, it felt odd but not uncomfortable. He found that laying his head against the back of the chair helped.

“I can’t see anything,” he pointed out.

“I’ll remove the shutter in a moment.” Carruthers fiddled with the camera for a few minutes, then Murdoch heard him resume his seat. A match was struck and he smelled the familiar aroma of Carruthers’ pipe. “First let’s repeat the phrases. Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable. Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable.”

Murdoch echoed them obediently. As he was saying them for the third time, a cover on the outside of the camera was slid aside, and he could just make out the flickering light of the fireplace on a small plate. There was a soft click, and an image suddenly appeared in front of the light.

“Oh my.” Murdoch had expected it to be a picture of a woman, but he hadn’t anticipated how few items of clothing she would be wearing.

“Try to ignore the base nature of the photographs,” Carruthers advised. “Concentrate on the beauty of the subjects, their grace, the delicacy of their curves. Keep repeating the phrases. I will begin speaking as before, but you don’t need to listen to me. Just repeat the phrases and absorb the images.”

Murdoch was glad when the doctor bypassed his poem, but this time it sounded as if he were reading the instructions for assembling a sink. Even if Murdoch were interested, he found it hard to fix on anything other than the photographs. At first they were simply risqué, the sort of pictures he’d come across before on a case, and he fervently hoped he wouldn’t recognize any of the women. They were all strangers, and as the pictures changed, they gradually became less and less posed and more and more pornographic. At one point Murdoch realized his mouth was hanging open and he understood why Carruthers’ patients would be averse to seeing these in the older man’s presence. The goggles lent a veneer of privacy that was mandatory.

Murdoch lost track of time as the images progressed from scantily clad females to naked females to naked female parts. Under any other circumstances he would have been mortified, but remembering to repeat his mantra grounded him enough to stay in character. Wondering how the doctor had gotten hold of the photographs and whether a crime had been committed helped him stay unaroused.

He felt mentally exhausted when, with a final click, the camera plate went blank. Carruthers had finished his reading and now came over to remove the goggles. He’d lowered the lamp so that Murdoch’s eyes could adjust slowly to the light.

“How are you doing, William?”

Murdoch’s mouth was dry; he picked up his teacup only to find it empty. With an understanding nod, Carruthers poured him a fresh cup.

“I didn’t think such pictures were…” Murdoch hesitated, “…available.”

“They weren’t easy to acquire, and I promise you that I keep them under lock and key,” the doctor said seriously. “My purpose is not to exploit those women, but to show men like you what they can have. I’m guessing most of what you saw was new to you.”

“Oh yes.”

“Now you have seen the beauty of a woman’s body. It’s no longer a mystery, forbidden and out of reach. That beauty can be yours.” Carruthers smiled when it was clear that Murdoch had nothing to say. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. This weekend I want you to repeat the phrases and contemplate the images you saw until you are comfortable with them. I also want you to take these tablets.” He handed Murdoch a small brown bottle without a label. “One each night before you go to bed. They’ll help you sleep and will discourage any setbacks.”

Murdoch opened the bottle and looked inside at a couple dozen oblong pills. Their smell was pleasant but unfamiliar. “What are they?”

“Nothing you won’t find on any pharmacy shelf. They’re a mixture I developed to help my patients avoid the wrong sort of temptation.”

“Setbacks.” Murdoch got his meaning. “I see.”

Later, when Pendrick asked him about his session, Murdoch couldn’t help blushing.

“I didn’t sleep,” he admitted. The other was waiting, so he described exactly how he’d spent his evening. Pendrick smirked more than once, but at the end he had only two questions.

“You’re not going to take the pills, are you?” he demanded.

“No, I’m going to ask Julia to analyze them tomorrow.” Murdoch might trust Carruthers’ intentions, but not to the extent of swallowing unknown drugs.

That was obviously what Pendrick hoped to hear. His second question was more self-indulgent. “Do you think you could draw me a diagram of this Personal Viewer? I’d love to figure out how it works.”

“It was quite clever,” Murdoch agreed, and by the time they retired he’d sketched what he could recall of the device. He had no idea how the photographs were fed into it, but he promised to pay closer attention at Monday’s session.

Next day Murdoch found time to stop by the morgue and give Julia the bottle of pills. She accepted them, but was much more anxious to receive his report.

“No hypnosis,” Murdoch assured her. “I was awake the entire time. All Dr. Carruthers did was bombard me with pornography.” Again he reddened just to speak of it. “And I’m afraid those are all the details I’m able to share.”

Julia eyed him for a moment, but evidently decided this behavior was normal. “I’ll analyze the pills as soon as I have a chance. Did he tell you their purpose?”

Rather than blush yet again, Murdoch shook his head.

On Monday Station No. 4 had a weekend crime spree to deal with, but Murdoch made time to slip over to the morgue after lunch. He found Ruby visiting, apparently having brought her sister her midday meal.

“You’re looking exceptionally lovely today, Miss Ogden,” Murdoch greeted her.

“Why thank you, Detective Murdoch,” Ruby said with a piquant smile. “I didn’t think you ever noticed me with Julia in the room.”

“Ruby!” Julia hissed.

“Of course I’ve noticed you,” Murdoch had to say. “How could any man not? You light up a room with your mere presence.”

“Thank you again.” Ruby cast Julia an impish look, then took her leave with a sweep of her skirt. “Enjoy your lunch, Julia.”

The latter was seated at her work table with one hand to her forehead as if it ached. “William, were you actually flirting with my sister?”

Murdoch sighed. “A mistake I won’t make again.”

Julia laughed. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it when I get home. Meanwhile,” she pulled a report out of a stack of papers nearby, “I’ve analyzed those pills Dr. Carruthers gave you. It’s very strange, because there’s nothing medicinal to them at all.”

“What did you find?”

“A low dosage of valerian root, which is a sedative. Marjoram, henbane and potassium nitrate, which are all rumored to cause impotence although it’s never been proven.” Julia looked up from the report. “Did Carruthers tell you he was trying to limit your sexual activity?”

“In a roundabout way, yes. He was assuming my only sexual activity would be solo or with another man, and that would interfere with his treatment.”

“Then frankly, I don’t understand _what_ he’s doing,” Julia stated. “Mantras, pornography and impotence? Are you going back this evening?”

“Absolutely. Aren’t you curious to see what he comes up with next?”

That evening Dr. Carruthers produced his Personal Viewer again, and this time seemed to be reading a book on extinct bird species while Murdoch gazed at ever more provocative images of women. Although he wasn’t about to confess to anyone, even the doctor, he did doze off again for a while. The repetitiveness of the flesh he was being shown was lulling, and it was embarrassing enough to tell his lover and his colleague that he was forced to watch hours of pornography without admitting that he found it monotonous enough to put him to sleep.

Carruthers didn’t seem to notice anything when he removed the goggles afterwards. As far as the doctor’s behavior indicated, Murdoch’s treatment was advancing right on schedule. During his ride home that evening, Murdoch wondered whether he was wasting his time. It was possible something else entirely had happened to send Michael Llewellyn into madness. 

*****

There were several unexplained deaths in Murdoch’s district that week to keep him occupied. It wasn’t till Wednesday afternoon that he had a chance to visit Julia again, and to his surprise, she’d made a discovery that required his attention.

She was performing an autopsy while they talked, which Murdoch usually found interesting. The naked body before her was a middle-aged man who’d drowned, and for once Murdoch was unable to watch her remove his organs. He crossed himself but had to step away in order to concentrate on her words.

“It occurred to me yesterday,” she said, “that the combination of herbs in Dr. Carruthers’ pills was very similar to that I found in our John Doe’s stomach. There were other substances present as well, but it’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. What else was present in his stomach?”

“Trichloroethanol, which results from the ingestion of chloral hydrate, a sleeping aid. It’s much stronger than anything in your pills.”

“But you suspect our John Doe was one of Dr. Carruthers’ patients?”

“Isn’t it possible?” Julia set a pair of swollen lungs on a scale and turned to Murdoch eagerly. “If the young man was homosexual, it might explain why no family has come forward or reported him missing.”

“It’s worth following up on,” Murdoch agreed. “I’ll show his photograph to a friend of mine who might know him.”

When Jeffrey heard why Murdoch needed his help, he was saddened; when he heard why Murdoch had come to him he was mildly exasperated.

“Contrary to your apparent belief,” he said, “I don’t actually know every homosexual man in Toronto.”

“No, of course not.” Murdoch had assumed he did. He’d never thought about how many such men there must be in a city of that size. “Would you mind showing the picture around to see if anyone else recognizes him?”

“That I can do.” Jeffrey looked a little greyer around the temples than Murdoch remembered, and he now explained why. “I was at the hospital this morning. My friend Thaddeus might have permanent brain damage.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Have you had any luck finding this doctor with the cure? No one I’ve spoken to is familiar with him.”

Murdoch opted not to tell him about Dr. Carruthers, at least not until he had some sort of evidence to either convict or acquit the man. “I’m still working on it.”

His session that evening was more of the same, but Murdoch found he didn’t really mind. He enjoyed Carruthers’ company, and lying in the leather chair with the goggles on was relaxing. He stared at the images and repeated the mantra in his head, half listening to the doctor expound on how pencils were made. Occasionally he marveled that he had yet to see the same photograph twice. He’d had no idea that there existed that much pornography in the world.

Despite no effort whatsoever on his part, it felt good to be praised afterwards for his progress.

“You’re a very cooperative patient, William,” Carruthers told him happily. “How are the tablets working out?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you on Friday.”

When Murdoch got home that evening he headed straight for the back terrace. Pendrick had sent his current converter to one of his contacts in Montreal to test it under laboratory conditions, but he’d decided to leave the electrical lines and lanterns in place. They provided a charming atmosphere under which to sit in the evening, so he’d had the gardener cut away the weeds and move some light furniture out onto the flagstones. Murdoch found Pendrick relaxing there, sipping from a glass of scotch and staring out over the grounds. Still left to run wild, the lawn looked much more picturesque in darkness than in daylight.

“More pornography?” Pendrick asked when Murdoch took the seat next to him.

“Dr. Carruthers’ collection is extensive.”

“I’ve been trying to think of a way to meet him, but unless I present myself as another patient, I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“He’s very private.”

“You like the man.”

“Yes, I do.” Murdoch had already explained Carruthers resemblance to Father Christmas. “He isn’t judgmental or condemning. I get the sense he truly wants to help these men change. In fact, I’m almost convinced that he had nothing to do with Michael’s breakdown. Maybe he really was helping Michael, and whatever caused Michael to stop his treatments is what made him attack Thaddeus.”

Pendrick was staring at him. “Did you just say that there’s no good reason for you to continue these sessions?”

“No, I said I’m leaning towards thinking Carruthers innocent.”

“Leaning towards,” Pendrick echoed, and then changed the subject. “Julia told me you attempted to flirt with Ruby the other day. Brave of you, considering you haven’t a flirtatious bone in your body.”

“When did you talk to Julia?”

“We met for a drink after dinner.”

Murdoch suddenly realized why the other was sending a chill his way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this to go on so long. I seem to be spending more evenings with Carruthers than with you.” He reached for Pendrick’s hand. “Tomorrow night I’m yours.”

Pendrick smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

They closed up the house and went to bed soon afterwards. Murdoch was glad his lover didn’t initiate sex that night. He wasn’t in the mood, and he really wanted to exorcise all those images of naked femininity from his mind before reacquainting himself with the masculine equivalent. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot of physical contact while they slept however. Murdoch drifted off with Pendrick’s head on his shoulder as usual.

He dreamt he was in a dark place. There was someone with him, but he couldn’t see who, and whichever direction he turned, the entity stayed behind him. If Murdoch stood still, an unseen hand touched him, burning him through his clothing with a cold fire. The darkness was closing in, the hand scorching his bare skin, and he pushed it away with all his strength, only then awaking with a cry.

“William?” Pendrick was sitting up. “What was that?”

“What?”

“You were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you, and you nearly pushed me off the bed.”

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Murdoch exclaimed. When Pendrick shook his head, Murdoch drew him close again. He described his dream, feeling silly for over-reacting to it.

“This entity,” Pendrick asked when he finished, “was it by chance an incubus or a succubus?”

“Very amusing. No, it was a garden-variety demon. There was nothing sexual about it.” Murdoch recalled the pain from its touch. That actually had felt sexual, although it hadn’t been anywhere near his private parts. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Will you be able to go back to sleep?”

“Of course.”

In a very short while he did so, with no further nightmares.

Next day Murdoch came straight home from work, ready to make up for his neglect of his partner over the past week. He found Pendrick in the library with the disassembled pieces of several cameras spread out on his desk. He was experimenting with inserting a thin plate where the lens was supposed to be, but it didn’t look as if it were working the way he intended.

“It’s too thick to see through,” he stated. “You said you clearly saw the firelight through the plate before the images were shown, right?”

“Yes. It was the only source of light I _could_ see.”

“Hmmm.”

“How did you want to spend our evening alone?”

Pendrick grinned and tossed the plate aside. “May I have this dance?”

They crossed to the ballroom where he put on a recording. Pendrick clearly expected to lead their first waltz, but Murdoch quietly wrestled him for the position until Pendrick had no choice but to follow. Over their months together, Murdoch’s skill at leading had improved markedly and he had no qualms about maintaining his advantage for the rest of their dances. It made a nice change.

After dinner they went upstairs and crawled into bed. Here too Pendrick seemed to think he was in charge, but Murdoch had other ideas. He prepared and entered his partner smoothly, reveling in his warmth and drawing out his thrusts while Pendrick moaned uninhibitedly beneath him. He almost lost control at the end, but managed to hold off just long enough to make sure they both came at the same time.

Afterwards Murdoch collapsed on Pendrick’s chest, basking in his scent while Pendrick slowly stroked his back. The man’s nipple was right there, and although they’d never allotted much time or attention for those bits of their anatomy, Murdoch decided it needed tasting. He licked it, then when it had hardened sufficiently, sucked it into mouth.

“Gently, please,” Pendrick breathed. He gasped when Murdoch’s teeth closed slightly on what was now a very tender area. “William...” Murdoch hated to release his new oral toy, but he did so and moved to Pendrick’s other nipple, which was already hard and asking to be sucked. After only a few minutes Pendrick caught his breath and squirmed free. He kissed Murdoch on the lips to soften his rejection. “I’m sorry, my love. Teeth must be used sparingly."

“I never knew you were so sensitive there,” Murdoch murmured.

“Neither did I.”

They deepened their kiss and only broke apart when they were ready to sleep. 

*****

Friday’s session varied little from the others, and Murdoch wasn’t sure anymore why he looked forward to them. The pornographic imagery certainly wasn’t doing anything for him, and by now he’d begun chanting the phrases in his sleep, to which Pendrick could attest. He figured he must be waiting for something new to happen. If Carruthers’ entire treatment consisted of this, there was no possibility of it working, and Murdoch felt a little sorry for the man’s dreams of recognition by the psychiatric community.

On Saturday he received a message to meet Jeffrey at his workplace. Jeffrey had shown the photograph of their unknown victim to a number of his friends, and one of them had been able to provide a name. Murdoch was elated to finally have a lead, so he returned to the station and had Crabtree track down an address. He deliberately did not stop by the morgue to tell Julia that her hunch had been correct, because there was no evidence to suggest Carruthers had done anything wrong. Allergic reactions could be unpredictable and were no one’s fault.

Photograph in hand, he and Crabtree went to the boarding house where John Doe had possibly resided and showed it to the landlady. Her positive identification of one Andrew Jacoby had them celebrating for all of thirty seconds, then she added that she had no idea where the young man was from or whether he had any family. He did however leave a room full of belongings that needed to be disposed of, so they spent the rest of the day boxing and hauling Andrew’s things to the station. When he had time, Murdoch planned to look through them for some connection to Carruthers’ clinic.

That night he had another nightmare. The darkness wasn’t absolute this time; there was a faint glimmer of a candle in the distance, but he couldn’t see it clearly and he couldn’t get any closer to it. The demonic entity was again behind him, and no matter how Murdoch tried to elude it, the demon’s cold right hand found his naked skin. Wherever it landed, its touch was scaldingly hot and painfully erotic. Murdoch knew he was getting hard, but he also knew that if the hand managed to reach around him to his genitals, its grasp would leave him castrated.

This time it was Pendrick who woke him by crying out in pain. Murdoch was facing away from him but when he tried to sit up, he was held in place by his lover’s iron grip on his forearm, practically twisted behind his back.

“What happened?” Murdoch asked, afraid to look around.

Pendrick released his arm. His voice was a little unsteady. “You just tried to tear my testicles off.”

“I’m so sorry!” Murdoch finally turned over. “How bad is it?”

“I’m intact. Did you have another nightmare?”

“The same one, only worse.”

“I think you should tell Dr. Roberts about it.” Pendrick lay back down on his side. “You said that nightmares were one of Michael’s symptoms.”

“According to his parents, Michael had been prone to nightmares since he was a boy.”

“Unlike you, which is why you might want to take them seriously.”

Murdoch really didn’t see the point, but he also didn’t want Pendrick to worry needlessly. “All right. I’ll see Dr. Roberts on Monday.” On impulse he burrowed under the covers and kissed the part of his lover’s anatomy that he’d unintentionally abused. To his credit, Pendrick barely flinched. “I am really sorry.”

“Are you speaking to me or to them?” Pendrick asked.

“To both.”

“We both forgive you.”

On Monday Murdoch and Crabtree combed through Andrew Jacoby’s belongings for some clue to his next of kin. They discovered that he’d moved to Toronto from a town near Winnipeg within the past year, but there were no letters from anyone at home, and no address book. Andrew had apparently not found a job yet, and other than his chance social contact with Jeffrey’s acquaintance, had not made any friends. There was nothing to link him to the clinic. He had little money, no bank account, and it looked as if he were going to be buried in a pauper’s grave.

“Unless Dr. Carruthers can name a friend of his,” Julia pointed out when Murdoch finally told her what they’d learned. “Maybe someone who referred him.”

“We have no proof that Andrew knew Dr. Carruthers.” Murdoch raised a placating hand because he could see her temper starting to unravel. “I grant you it’s an odd coincidence about the herbs and him being homosexual, but the only evidence we have is circumstantial. I can’t very well ask him about Andrew without giving away my real occupation.”

Julia faced him directly. “William, why are you continuing this treatment? Haven’t you found out what you wanted to know?”

“No, I haven’t. We still don’t know why Michael Llewellyn attacked Thaddeus Ross. They’re both still in the hospital and may never fully recover. Someone has to find an answer.” Murdoch spoke passionately, and she seemed to be swayed. “I can’t imagine I’ll need to go to many more sessions.”

“Have you told your priest you’re doing this?”

“Father Lanahan? Why would I?” Murdoch went to services and confession every Sunday, but the subject of his treatment had never come up.

“I’m just curious what he would make of it.” Julia said.

It wasn’t until Murdoch got home late that night after his appointment that he remembered his agreement to see Dr. Roberts that day. Pendrick didn’t ask, so Murdoch didn’t mention it, even when he again had the nightmare. This time he’d been lying on his side facing his partner, so Pendrick didn’t suffer any consequences other than broken sleep.

Tuesday passed slowly, and Murdoch felt unaccountably restless. He had reports to write up and statements to draft, but none of it held his attention. By mid-afternoon he’d resorted to taking a two hour ride on his bicycle just to work off some energy, but that didn’t last. By the time he got home he was again antsy and irritable.

Pendrick turned on the Victrola as soon as he saw Murdoch’s face. “You look like you need to dance.”

“The faster the better,” Murdoch agreed. The music had barely begun before he pulled Pendrick to him and started whipping them around the dance floor. It was not his best performance, and he could tell that Pendrick was getting alarmed, so when they waltzed near enough to one of the divans, he simply pushed his partner down onto it and threw himself on top.

“What are you-” Pendrick’s question was cut off by an insistent kiss. Murdoch pulled open his lover’s clothing, oblivious to tearing cloth and flying buttons, then bit and sucked his way down to Pendrick’s cock, only to find it not nearly as hard as his own. His pause gave Pendrick a chance to sit up. “William, slow down. Let’s do this another way.”

“What do you suggest?”

Pendrick repositioned them so that they fit side by side on the divan, his mouth near Murdoch’s crotch. While Murdoch was deciding that he liked this maneuver, Pendrick unfastened Murdoch’s trousers and engulfed him to the hilt. Murdoch followed suit immediately, gratified to see that Pendrick’s member was now rigid.

He’d gotten very good at oral sex over the past six months, and Pendrick was the first to climax. Murdoch continued to kiss and lick his cock while Pendrick brought him to the same heights, really glad that his partner had suggested this. Ejaculating had apparently been what he needed to dissipate his excess energy and he wondered why he hadn’t recognized that.

“William,” Pendrick whispered, his tone strained. “Please stop.”

Murdoch had no idea what he was referring to till he realized he was still mouthing Pendrick’s raw and wilting cock. He immediately let go. “James, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Pendrick didn’t reply, merely resting his head on his arm and closing his eyes. After a few minutes Murdoch assumed he was sleeping. His restlessness gone, he was able to relax there and doze as well. 

*****

Wednesday afternoon Murdoch was in the middle of a completely useless experiment involving a sponge, an egg and a box spring when Crabtree came to his door.

“Sir, we have a call. It’s urgent,” he said. “Dr. Ogden will be coming with us.”

“A murder?” Murdoch asked, grabbing his hat. He followed the constable to a carriage where Julia already waited. “What do we have?”

“I’m not sure,” Julia said as they began to move. She exchanged a look with Crabtree, whose wide-eyed zeal could indicate anything or nothing.

“George? Where are we going?”

Crabtree flipped through his notebook to the page he wanted and read off an address. It took Murdoch a moment to connect it to a place he knew well.

“That’s the Toronto Hospital for Incurables,” he said, puzzled. An instant later his heart sank. “Is it Michael?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what the exact situation is, Sir,” Crabtree admitted, and since Murdoch recalled belatedly that the constable wouldn’t know who Michael was, he stopped asking questions.

At the THI he started to lead the way to the young man’s room, but was intercepted by Dr. Roberts, who directed him to his office instead. Julia followed, while Crabtree trailed behind.

“Is Michael worse?” Murdoch asked. “Has he become violent again?”

Roberts ushered them inside, then nodded to Crabtree, who took up a position outside the door as it was closed. It was only then that Murdoch noticed they weren’t alone.

“James? What are you doing here?”

Pendrick was standing by the window looking very somber. “You didn’t see Dr. Roberts on Monday.”

“No, I’m sorry, I forgot.” Murdoch turned to the doctor, who’d also remained standing, then to Julia, whom he noticed now was not carrying her medical bag. “What is this?”

“Mr. Pendrick and Dr. Ogden feel you’re in over your head with this Inversion Therapy,” Roberts informed him. “They asked me to talk to you, and I suggested we meet.”

Murdoch wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused. “I’m not in over my head. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“William, your behavior has changed,” Julia said.

“In what way?”

She glanced at Pendrick, who wouldn’t meet Murdoch’s eyes.

“You’re more aggressive,” he said shortly. “Both in bed and out.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because…” Pendrick’s lips twisted, and for the first time in months, the pinched look he’d used to have was back. Murdoch felt a pang. “Because you’ve hurt me more than once. Your mind seems to be somewhere else when we’re being intimate.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t. If that were all, I’d have spoken to you about it privately, but that along with your nightmares, and your insistence that everything is fine, has me worried.”

Murdoch was shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s causing the nightmares, but I _am_ fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Julia insisted. “I’m convinced that doctor hypnotized you at your first session and that ever since then you’ve been doing what he tells you to.”

“That’s impossible. For one thing, he doesn’t even know about James.”

“Perhaps that’s why James has gotten caught in the middle! Whatever Dr. Carruthers told you to do, it didn’t take your partner into account!”

“Why are you so concerned about it? You knew he was here at the clinic, didn’t you?” Murdoch looked from one to the other. “Were you all in on setting up this meeting? George too?”

“No, George had no idea why he was bringing you here.” Julia would not back down. “I asked him to come along in case you guessed what was happening and tried to resist.”            

“And George was supposed to stop me?” Murdoch imagined the constable must be getting an earful outside the door. “Now what? I understand that you’re worried, but there is _nothing wrong_!”

Dr. Roberts finally spoke up. “Why don’t you tell me about these sessions? Describe one from beginning to end.” Murdoch exhaled in exasperation. “In detail please.”

Murdoch did so, starting with his arrival at Carruthers’ office, through his time spent with the Personal Viewer, to his departure. It was easy to be detailed since the routine was so consistent. Dr. Roberts sat down at his desk as soon as Murdoch began and made notes, while both Julia and Pendrick listened carefully without interrupting.

“I didn’t know about the tea,” Julia remarked when Murdoch fell silent. “It could be drugged.”

“Dr. Carruthers drinks the same tea.”

“Could you get a sample? Liquid, please, not its unbrewed form.”

“I think so.” Murdoch faced Roberts expectantly. “What is your opinion, Doctor?”

Roberts was re-reading his notes. “Now tell me about your nightmares in the same detail.”

Rapidly growing impatient, Murdoch related as much as he could remember of his dreams. He didn’t include the feeling that they were somehow sexual since that impression was entirely in his head and this meeting was already embarrassing enough.

Afterwards Roberts set down his pen and stood up, his normally serious expression verging on glum. “You asked my opinion. Based on everything I’ve heard here, my opinion is that you’re in the same state Michael was when he snapped and nearly killed his friend.” Roberts moved a chair behind Murdoch so that he could fall into it. Julia found one for herself, and Pendrick sank down on the window ledge, while Roberts looked from one to another. “What Carruthers is doing to you does sound very much like hypnotism. The darkened room, the music, the repetition of those phrases, all set the stage for you to go under. If you weren’t under his spell, you’d realize that watching hours of pornography without a physical response is not normal. Nor is looking forward to such an activity. Something else is going on during your sessions, something that is triggering nightmares about demons you can’t see.”

Murdoch felt all the blood leave his face. “But I _remember_ the sessions.”

“That could easily be a post-hypnotic instruction.”

“What can we do?” Julia asked, her battle fervor gone. She was as pale as Murdoch.

“I don’t want to be hospitalized,” Murdoch said, picturing Michael sitting motionless in his chair. He met his lover’s stricken eyes. “But I’ll commit myself rather than take a chance on hurting someone again.”

Pendrick straightened up suddenly. “No. I won’t allow that. We have to stop this man.” He moved to stand beside Murdoch’s chair and clasp his hand. “We need a sample of that tea. Dr. Roberts, is there any way to prevent the hypnosis from working?”

“Not without knowing all the suggestions Detective Murdoch has been given.”

“William, are you willing to go back there tonight?”

“Will he be in any danger?” Julia demanded.

Roberts wasn’t one for false reassurances. “I think it’s a bad idea, but there’s no reason to believe he’d be in any more danger tonight than he has been any other night, as long as Carruthers doesn’t suspect him of being a policeman. Detective, do you think you can pretend not to know you’re being hypnotized?”

Murdoch truly wished he knew how to swear. “I can try.”

“I’ll take you to your appointment,” Pendrick said, “and wait to drive you home. I don’t want you to be alone until this is over.”

“I’ll ask Constable Crabtree to keep an eye on him at the station tomorrow,” Julia offered. A muffled “Consider it done!” came through the closed door. “But hopefully the Inspector will let him take the day off. Can you be home with him?”

“Yes. What I have planned for tomorrow can be done at home.”

Murdoch didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t lay his fears to rest. “You should be afraid to be alone with me,” he said tightly. He was still clutching Pendrick’s hand and didn’t care how that looked. “I’ll never forgive myself if I harm you.”

“I won’t let you harm me, now that I know what to watch for.” Pendrick leaned a little closer in order to whisper. “I’m perfectly able to defend myself, my dear. I’m not a weakling.”

Murdoch finally nodded, because he knew that to be true. “All right. One more time.” 

*****

Carruthers’ office didn’t look any different. Murdoch had subconsciously expected to see things that had previously been hidden from him, but knowing what he was walking into didn’t change the cozy familiarity of the room. He accepted his usual cup of tea, then jiggled it enough to spill some onto the arm of the chair.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, quickly wiping it up with his handkerchief. “Clumsy of me.”

“Think nothing of it,” Carruthers said. He brought out the goggles and fit them over Murdoch’s head. When the pornography began a few minutes later, Murdoch tried to ignore it and focus on what was going on in the room, but all he could hear was Carruthers listing average daily rainfall for the entire last century, faint music, and the spit and crackle of the fireplace.

When he woke up Murdoch’s heart was pounding and he had no doubt that he’d been under hypnosis. He felt normal, but had no way of knowing whether that was just a result of a post-hypnotic suggestion. It was all he could do to fake a civil good-bye and leave the building as briskly as possible.

Pendrick was waiting in the carriage with an evidence bag for the handkerchief, and Murdoch inserted it with a sense of finality. He devoutly hoped he’d never have to see Carruthers again.

At home they went up to their room as usual. Murdoch wouldn’t have been surprised if Pendrick refused to sleep with him, but the man merely donned a pair of pajamas and lay down on the side of the bed where Murdoch usually slept. Since Murdoch was in the habit of facing the edge with his lover behind him, he saw Pendrick’s reasoning.              

“You get the middle of the bed, my dear. If you turn over, I shall simply move to the other side,” Pendrick told him.

“Why are you wearing pajamas? Oh.” Murdoch winced to recall his assault on his partner’s various tender areas. “Are you still sore?”

“No, but if you have a nightmare, I’d rather not leave any important bits exposed.”

“Have I done something else in my sleep?”

Pendrick kissed his palm. “Nothing too violent. You’ve fought me off a couple of times, but without targeting any part I might need later.”

Murdoch groaned. “James, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“None of it matters now.” Pendrick smiled enough for Murdoch to see his teeth in the darkened room. “Sleep well, my love.”

“And you.”

In the morning Murdoch awoke facing the other way, and Pendrick had moved to the opposite side of the bed as promised, with no damage done.

Pendrick dropped Murdoch off at the station, then went on himself to deliver the handkerchief to Julia. Murdoch meanwhile was met at the entrance by Crabtree, who accompanied him to his office and lingered there like a dog awaiting his master’s next command. Murdoch gestured for him to close the door.

“George, I appreciate your willingness to keep an eye on me, but you don’t need to do so literally. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, Sir.” Crabtree didn’t move.

Murdoch gave up. “Did Dr. Ogden fill you in on any details you missed?”

“I believe I’m now up to speed.” The constable didn’t look at all uncomfortable to be privy to so many details of his superior’s personal life, whereas Murdoch definitely was.

“I’m sorry to involve you in what was meant to be an unofficial investigation.”

“If you hadn’t pursued the matter, we wouldn’t have discovered Mr. Jacoby’s identity,” Crabtree said reasonably. “It seems to me you were doing what they call ‘under-cover’ police work, Sir, and very successfully at that, if we overlook the part about you being on the verge of a mental breakdown. It seems likely your investigation will lead to the arrest of this Dr. Carruthers. It’s even possible we’ll be able to trace his collection of photographs back to their sources and clean up the entire pornographic industry.”

Murdoch had to admire his optimism, even if he was too weary to say so. “You can leave me alone in here, George. I won’t go anywhere without letting you know.”

This time Crabtree took him at his word. Left on his own, Murdoch wrapped up several case reports on the assumption that he wouldn’t be back to work for several days. He fully intended to commit himself at the first sign of uncharacteristic aggression. While that might mean the end of his career, at least he wouldn’t have a chance to hurt anyone else.

Just before noon, Julia came looking for him. She was pale but determined, and she too closed the door to his office before speaking.            

“The tea was full of chloral hydrate,” she announced. “There was no way you could have stayed awake during those sessions.”

Murdoch had come to that conclusion already. “You said the other day that chloral hydrate metabolizes into another chemical. Could it cause nightmares?”

“No, nothing like that. It changes to trichloroethanol after a few hours… and trichloroacetic acid after a few days.” Her eyes widened. “William, that’s it. If Mr. Jacoby had been given chloral hydrate over an extended period of time, he would have had a high concentration of trichloroacetic acid in his system, enough to react with the wine he drank at dinner. That’s what killed him.”

“Dr. Carruthers never told me not to drink alcohol.”

“Maybe he doesn’t realize the interaction could be fatal. Whether he knew it or not, it was his drugging of Mr. Jacoby’s tea that caused the man’s death.”

Murdoch had to shake his head. “We still don’t have enough to arrest Carruthers,” he said. “I’m not defending him; I’m saying that we don’t have a solid connection between the two. Even if we brought the doctor in and he admitted to treating Jacoby, he could claim his patient knew about the drug, or that he’d warned him not to drink alcohol.”

Julia looked thoroughly exasperated. “Then I’m going to have to do something I’d hoped I could avoid. I’m going to contact Darcy.”

“What does he have to do with this?” To Murdoch’s knowledge, she hadn’t spoken to her ex-husband since their divorce. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“He’s on the Medical Ethics Board in Buffalo. I’m going to have to tell him the situation and ask for his advice. There must be something we can do to put Carruthers out of business.”

“Julia, that would be helpful, but if contacting him will be too difficult for you -”

“It has to be done, before James does something even more irresponsible.” She acknowledged his concern. “Your partner has something in mind, William, which could turn this investigation on its head.”

“What does he -”

“You’ll have to ask him. I promised not to tell you.”

Murdoch mentally calculated how soon he could leave. “How is it he told you? Come to think of it, you and he seem to have been in touch throughout this affair.”

Julia was in no mood to leave that suspicion unchallenged. “Of course we have. We were both worried about you. You were hardly in a receptive frame of mind, and in case you haven’t noticed, James has no one else to talk to about things that matter to him.” Murdoch hadn’t thought of that. “He was afraid you would do something you’d regret.”

As far as Murdoch was concerned, it was too late: he sincerely regretted making Carruthers’ acquaintance and every moment spent with him since.

After Julia returned to the morgue, he set aside the last of his case files and went to knock on Brackenreid’s door, uncertain what he was going to say but anxious now to get home and talk to Pendrick.

“Come!” Brackenreid called, then glanced up from his papers to see whom he’d invited in. He did a double take upon seeing Murdoch’s face. “Good God, man. Are you ill?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Murdoch said. He hadn’t realized he looked as dismal as he felt. “I was going to ask whether you can manage without me for the rest of the day.”

“Better that than have you spread whatever it is you’ve got around the station.” Brackenreid told him. “Go home and deal with it.”

When Murdoch turned around, Crabtree was there. He accompanied Murdoch to their bicycles without a word and showed every intention of riding with him out to the estate. In the end, Murdoch let him, too tired to protest. Nor did he comment on the constable’s determined efforts to never be directly behind Murdoch. On a better day, Murdoch would have found the idea of mistaking Crabtree for a demon ludicrous, but just then all he could dwell on was his faulty judgment.

He found Pendrick at his desk, magnifying glasses on, soldering a part into a small, flat case. It was about the size of a deck of cards and maybe half as thick, and had several wires leading from it. Pendrick looked up in surprise when Murdoch came in.

“I’ve been given the rest of the day off.” Murdoch told him. He tried, but he couldn’t quite identify the device his partner was modifying. He related Julia’s findings regarding the handkerchief, and ended with, “She says you have an ill-conceived plan.”

Pendrick removed the glasses and frowned. “Everything about this business has been ill-conceived.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep your appointment tomorrow evening.” He waited while Murdoch slowly sat down. “This is a receiver,” he added, indicating the gadget in his hand. “It will fit under my clothing and it will record everything the doctor and I say. I’m going to make him admit what he’s been doing to you and to his other patients.”

“How are you going to do that?” Murdoch asked. “He has no reason to talk to you.”

“He will when I tell him I’m your lover.”

“No, he’ll tell you you’re mistaken. He can be very convincing.”

Pendrick resumed working on the device, stubbornness in his every motion. “I’ll give him no other option.”

“You’ll threaten him? If this becomes a police matter, you’ll be arrested too. As will I.”

“We’re running out of time.” Pendrick flashed him a glare. “As soon as you don’t show up tomorrow, he’s going to know that something is wrong. He could pack up and leave Toronto and we’ll have nothing to pin on him.”

For several long minutes he worked and Murdoch ruminated. The solution was obvious, but he didn’t even want to suggest it.

“How long will that receiver record?”

“I’ve given it enough tape for one hour.”

“Can it hold enough tape for two hours or more?”

Pendrick looked up. “I can enlarge it, yes.”

“You’ve no doubts that it will work?”

“If you’re thinking of going back there yourself, forget that idea right now.”

Murdoch wasn’t going to argue it. He rose and picked up the receiver case, testing its weight. He could imagine wearing it under his jacket, perhaps under his shirt. “Is it strong enough to record someone sitting several feet away?”

“Yes. The only problem is that it’s not silent. I have till tomorrow to make it so.” Pendrick was watching him narrowly. “Julia and Dr. Roberts would kill me if I allowed you to go back.”

“They don’t need to know till afterwards.”

“We could both go, force Carruthers to tell us the truth.”

That made Murdoch wince. “Absolutely not. When I’m in his office, I’m under his spell. As long as he thinks I’m unaware, I’m safe. If you came with me, he might have a way of using me against you.”

Pendrick took the device out of his hands and set it down. “William, it’s far too dangerous. One more session might be all it takes to put you in an asylum.” He pulled Murdoch into his arms, and some of the tension left his body when Murdoch returned his embrace. “If my choice is to have you as you are or locked up, I’ll take you as you are.”

“How romantic,” Murdoch murmured. In the safely of his lover’s embrace he suddenly felt strong enough to surmount any obstacle. “Did I tell you, I have a new mantra.”

“What is it?”

“James is beautiful, James is brilliant, Carruthers is finished.” 

*****

The night passed without any nightmares, although come morning, Murdoch discovered he’d given his partner an indecently large love bite on the side of his neck. Pendrick put on a high, stiff collar and wondered aloud whether this recent oral fixation of Murdoch’s was a symptom of his treatment or just something he’d have to learn to live with. Murdoch wasn’t really sure.

They spent most of the day perfecting the receiver. By dinnertime it held enough tape to record nearly three hours, and its operation was completely silent. It fit snugly in Murdoch’s inside jacket pocket with one wire extending through the material. On the end of it was the piece, made to look like a button, which would catch all sound in its vicinity.

He was a little surprised that he hadn’t heard from Julia. When he’d called the station that morning to say he wouldn’t be in, Crabtree had promised he’d pass the message along to the appropriate people. Murdoch had fully expected to be subjected to a second intervention at some point that day, and was counting down the minutes till they could be on their way to the clinic. Pendrick again intended to wait for him outside, with the promise that if Murdoch was one minute late appearing, he’d break down the door.

At seven o’clock, Murdoch rang the doctor’s bell. Carruthers let him in as usual and made small talk as he led him upstairs. As soon as they’d reached the office, Murdoch turned on the receiver, curious whether it would catch the rapid beat of his heart. Then Carruthers offered him tea, he accepted, and the session began.

When Murdoch woke up he recalled the receiver immediately. He couldn’t tell if it was still recording, so he took his leave as usual, agreeing that he’d be back on Monday. The minute he was outside the building he checked the device, thrilled to find that it was still on.

Pendrick practically pulled him into the carriage. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Murdoch disconnected the button piece so that he could remove the receiver from his pocket, holding it in both hands as if it were a priceless gem. “I think it worked.”

“Do you want to listen to it, or shall we take it straight to Dr. Roberts?”

Pendrick started driving while Murdoch contemplated his answer. He hated to imagine what was on the tape, but since this entire fiasco was his doing, he felt he should hear it. It crossed his mind that he should do it alone, but he knew his partner would veto that request.

“Let’s listen to it,” he finally said. Pendrick nodded.

As soon as they got home, they set up the receiver on the desk in the library and sat down side by side in front of it. Murdoch appreciated having his lover within touching distance, although he suspected Pendrick had an ulterior purpose for being within easy reach.

“Are you ready?” Pendrick asked, and added, “We can turn it off at any time.”

“I’m ready.”

The recording began just as Dr. Carruthers was suggesting tea. His voice was low but audible, and when he came to sit in his chair, became quite clear. Murdoch’s responses were of course louder. In the background the very faint sound of the fire could be heard, but not the music.

As Carruthers went through the repetition of the phrases, it occurred to Murdoch that he may have set himself up to be hypnotized again right there. He glanced quickly at Pendrick, who had evidently had the same thought. Pendrick laid his hand on Murdoch’s arm and left it there.

They could hear the doctor situating the goggles on his patient, and even the soft click of the camera activating made it onto the tape. Carruthers began speaking in a monotone about all the different types of grasses there were in Africa. Occasionally Murdoch could be heard muttering his mantra, but otherwise his breathing was slow and even.

 _“William?”_ Carruthers suddenly said in the same pleasant drone. _“Are you asleep?”_

_“Yes.”_

Murdoch started at the sound of his own voice. His heart rate increased immediately, but those were the only words he spoke. The doctor resumed his recitation of grass species. After a moment or two there were other sounds, but Murdoch had no idea what they were. He could hear what seemed to be material rustling and metal creaking, then his breathing changed. It became deeper, interspersed with soft gasps and moans. Murdoch knew exactly what that indicated.

He looked at Pendrick, who appeared equally aghast. Just as he was about to disclaim any recollection of being aroused, his moans changed, becoming small cries of pain. That went on for several minutes till the Murdoch on tape was actually whimpering. Pendrick’s fingers were digging into his arm.

Then the sounds changed again. Taking a long breath, Murdoch-on-tape began making the little gasps he’d made before, clearly excited and enjoying it. His breathing quickened and Murdoch tensed, expecting his recorded self to soar to climax. Instead he inhaled deeply and held it, only to again cry out in anguish. His groans now were hard to listen to.

Pendrick suddenly reached out to the receiver, and Murdoch thought he meant to turn it off, but he only reversed the tape for a few seconds.

“Listen.” When he played it again, at the part when Murdoch switched from pleasure to pain, there was a quiet, very familiar click. “That’s the camera. I think you’re looking at different images now.”

Murdoch nodded, too shaken to say anything. After long excruciating minutes the click came again, and Murdoch-on-tape was again aroused. Each time he seemed to peak higher, closer to release, and each time the pain that followed seemed to be greater. Finally, when Murdoch wasn’t sure he could listen to any more, his recorded self was allowed to ejaculate with a hoarse cry.

There was silence except for his panting, then the soft metallic sounds and the rustling material returned. Murdoch still didn’t know what the former were, but he knew now that the latter was his clothing being restored. The camera clicked again.

“ _William_.” Carruthers said, his voice calm as if he hadn’t just participated in sexual torment. “ _Soon you will wake up. You will feel rested and refreshed and remember nothing since I last said your name. You will not remember being asleep. You will feel no residual pain, nor will you question any differences in the state of your body or your clothing._ _You will wake knowing your treatment is good for you and looking forward to our next session._

_“When I say your three phrases you will wake up. Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable.”_

The doctor’s tone changed to the one Murdoch was used to. “ _William, how are you doing?”_

Murdoch-on-tape cleared his throat. Murdoch listening recalled that it had usually been quite dry when he awoke, and now he knew why. “ _I’m fine_.”

_“The tablets are still helping you sleep?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“No setbacks?”_

_“None.”_

_“Very good. I’ll see you on Monday.”_

There was the sound of footsteps going down the stairs, a door opening and closing, then the tape turned off.

Pendrick looked ready to put his fist through something. “How dare he touch you?” he exclaimed, standing up to pace the floor in utter fury. “How dare he abuse you like that? The man’s a monster!”

Murdoch felt as though he might be sick. “There was someone else there.”

“I’ll be damned if he’s going to get away with just losing his license! That bastard is going to spend the rest of his life in prison!”

Leaving his partner to vent his anger alone, Murdoch made it to the scullery before expelling his dinner. He had no memory of anything he’d heard occur on the tape, but it seemed obvious that Carruthers couldn’t have been reading about African plant life and molesting his patient at the same time. Someone unknown had been in the room while Murdoch was asleep and helpless.

Pendrick found him there a while later, sitting on the cold stone floor and still a bit damp from the water he’d splashed on his face. He knelt beside Murdoch and carefully helped him to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Pendrick said in a much more rational tone. “I had no idea we were going to hear anything like that.” He guided Murdoch towards the staircase, although Murdoch could have gotten there under his own power if he’d wanted to. “Based on your nightmare and Michael’s talk of demons, I expected Carruthers to be using some sort of religious persuasion. If I’d even suspected he was using physical methods, I would never have let you go back.”

At the foot of the stairs Murdoch stopped. He was tired again, but he didn’t think he could face one his nightmares that night. The reality of hands hurting him in the dark was all too vivid.

“Could we dance?” he asked. Pendrick met his eyes in confusion. “I don’t want to go to bed. Could we just dance till we drop?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Pendrick put on one of the longest waltzes they owned and took Murdoch into his arms. Murdoch had no interest in leading this time; he let his lover set a slow pace and swayed with him till his eyes closed and he imagined he was dancing in his sleep. 

*****

Next morning they took the tape to Dr. Roberts and let him listen to it alone. Murdoch never wanted to hear a single second of it again, and he was confident Pendrick felt the same way. He didn’t want to talk about it either, but didn’t see that he had a choice.

When Roberts came to find them in the waiting room, he was livid but in control.

“Carruthers’ license will be revoked by the end of the day,” he told them, escorting them back to his office. “I’ve spoken to the Medical Ethics Board, and the paperwork is in process. I’m going to personally go with their representative to his clinic to see it done.”

“Will he be charged with anything criminal?” Pendrick asked.

“Not unless he admits to performing the same sort of hypnosis on Michael, which I’m sure he did.” Roberts sat behind his desk and poked the receiver as if it were a diseased animal. “I’ve insisted I have a chance to talk to him alone. It’s possible he’ll confess to me if he knows I’m trying to help one of his patients.”

“He keeps a journal,” Murdoch said. “Could you get that for me?”

“I’ll try. Are you going to want to confront him?”

“No. I’d rather not be brought into it at all.”

Now Roberts included Pendrick in his darkest scowl. “Need I tell you how stupid it was to go back for another session?”

“No.”

“Do you understand how lucky you are that no further damage has been done?”

Murdoch shook his head. “That remains to be seen.” He’d given this a lot of thought, and while his insides quaked at the concept, he had to ask. “Are you able to hypnotize me so that I’ll remember what happened in that room?”

“No!” Pendrick exclaimed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever sleep well again unless I know what took place,” Murdoch told them both. “Doctor, is it possible?”

Roberts seemed to be considering it. “I am qualified to hypnotize you,” he admitted. “It doesn’t always work on a subject who is under the influence of previous suggestions, but since we know the verbal signal Carruthers used, it should be possible. Of course, remembering what sounded like a traumatic experience during that session might be detrimental to your waking state of mind. The benefit of knowing the truth might not be worth the risk.”

“It will be.” Murdoch had to believe that.

“William, you don’t have to,” Pendrick protested. “Dr. Roberts, can you hypnotize him to _forget_ what he heard on the tape?”

“That might be more difficult,” Roberts admitted. “There would always be a chance something would trigger the memory.”

Murdoch shook his head firmly. “No, I have to know.”

Pendrick looked like he wanted to object further, but he surrendered with only a tight-lipped grimace. “May I be present?”

“I would prefer if you weren’t,” Roberts said. “Detective Murdoch, am I correct that you’d like to do this now?” Murdoch nodded. “Mr. Pendrick, would you mind waiting outside?”

“William,” Pendrick began, but Murdoch gave him a small smile in hopes he wouldn’t make this harder. “…Call me as soon as it’s over.”

“I will.”

After Pendrick retreated to the waiting room, Murdoch sat still and watched in trepidation as Dr. Roberts prepared his office. He locked the door, disconnected the phone, and closed the blinds, leaving just enough light coming through for Murdoch to make out the shapes of the furniture. He then invited Murdoch to lie down on a sofa along the back wall. Murdoch had noticed it before, but had never wondered why it was there.

“May I call you William?” Robert asked.

“Of course.” Murdoch made himself comfortable on the sofa, glad it wasn’t a reclining chair. So far he wasn’t strongly reminded of Carruthers space.

“I’d like you to close your eyes, relax, and count backwards from one hundred. I may talk while you’re counting, but you needn’t stop. Keep going till you reach zero.”

Murdoch took a deep breath and began counting. For the first twenty numbers Roberts was motionless and silent, but at ‘eighty’ he suddenly said, “William. Women are beautiful. Women are attractive. Women are desirable,” and Murdoch’s mind shut down.

He woke up a half an hour later feeling as if he’d had a full night’s sleep. Roberts was seated behind his desk watching him closely.

“Detective Murdoch,” he said at once, “how do you feel?”

Murdoch sat up and stretched. “Much better, thank you.”

“Do you recall any of your dreams?”

Suddenly he did, and the reason he was there came back to him. He’d dreamt that he was in a leather chair, unable to move or see, and someone’s hands were on him. “Yes… but it’s hazy, I don’t have all of the details.”

Roberts nodded. “I told your subconscious to reveal your memories slowly, as in a dream. You’ll eventually remember everything, but your psyche will have time to adjust. It’s the only protection I could provide.”

“Did I tell you what occurred while I was under Carruthers spell?”

“Yes, hence the need for some form of protection. I also erased your conditioning to respond to his phrases.”

Murdoch hadn’t even thought of that. “Thank you. What happens now? Will you contact me after you’ve spoken to him?”

“I’ll try to call on you this evening. If I can’t, I’ll give you Carruthers’ journal on Monday when you come to your first appointment.”

“First appointment?”

“Did you imagine I was going to let you go about your business without any follow-up?” Roberts raised one eyebrow pointedly. “You’re going to be seeing me regularly until I’m sure your behavior has returned to what your friends consider normal. There’s no room for negotiation, Detective. I told you the day you described Carruthers’ Inversion Therapy to me that any patient of his would need additional therapy to counteract it, yet you chose to undergo it anyway.”

“I… Oh.”

“We can set up appointments outside your work hours, and I assure you I can be tractable if an investigation requires you to miss one. But I will be in contact with Mr. Pendrick and Dr. Ogden, so you may as well resign yourself to seeing a lot of me over the next few months.”

Murdoch knew he’d brought this on himself. He was grateful to the doctor, and regular therapy would certainly reassure his friends, so he shook Roberts’ hand on it as graciously as he could.

Pendrick was pacing the corridor when Murdoch stepped out of the office.

“I’m fine,” Murdoch said quickly, then corrected himself, “I _will be_ fine.”

He explained Dr. Roberts’ post-hypnotic instruction that he remember his experiences slowly and the arrangement he and the doctor had made regarding additional therapy. In response, Pendrick exhaled a breath he’d been holding for days.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a nap.” 

*****

While Pendrick slept that afternoon, Murdoch dozed and pieced together his forgotten memories. They remained fuzzy, and even when the upsetting bits came back to him they did so as if they’d happened long ago, so he was able to face them with relative calm.

He recalled hands on him from the third session onward, the left one small, soft, warm and gentle, the right one large, hard, cold and rough. He knew now that they had to be gloves, but at the time it had seemed as if the left one belonged to a woman, its touch always accompanied by images of lovely feminine forms on the camera plate. The right one had seemed to belong to a man, accompanied by images he hadn’t even known he’d seen till now, of dark, hairy men with filthy bodies and misshapen genitals. When the female hand stroked him, it brought pleasure and anticipation; when the male hand gripped him it only hurt and frustrated him.

The gloves had been on him during every meeting, initially just arousing and depressing him through his clothing, then under his clothing, then on his naked skin. He wasn’t certain what the metallic sound on the tape was, but in his dreams he was seated in a more accessible position than the reclining chair would seem to allow, so he had to assume it could be maneuvered in some way to facilitate the doctor’s therapy.

The incident that he’d recorded came back to him last. The hands had brought him up to and back from the edge of climax before, but never as many times or for as long a period as they had that evening. He remembered being seconds away from coming only to feel the male glove deny all possibility of release. Its coarse fingers would clutch his engorged cock until he sobbed, then the female glove would take its place to caress and fondle him back to full arousal. His body was so confused it had begun mixing the signals, and Murdoch realized with shock that he wasn’t entirely sure which touch had finally made him explode.

He didn’t plan to tell Pendrick everything he remembered, at least not until some time had passed. When his lover had been raped months before, Murdoch had wished the instigator dead, and only his unbreakable moral center had prevented him for seeking some form of revenge. He hated to think what Pendrick, whose moral center was frequently Murdoch himself, might do. In any case, as maddening and unnerving as it was, Murdoch had no idea whom the hands had belonged to. His molester could have been either a woman or a man, someone he’d met before or a stranger, and he might never know.

Soon after dark, Dr. Roberts came by with Carruthers’ journal. For anyone else it would have been an exhausting day, but Roberts seemed energized by his varied activities, not the least of which was testifying against Carruthers before an emergency sitting of the Review Board.

“I played them the tape,” he said, joining Murdoch and Pendrick at their dining room table. “I didn’t give your name, of course, so they only know that Carruthers victimized a man named William. The Board questioned Carruthers, but it was a mere formality by then. His license has been revoked and his office closed down.”

“Were any of his answers helpful?” Murdoch asked.

“In what way? He tried to explain how his treatment worked, by turning his subject away from one gender and towards the other, but his method was barbaric and the repercussions obvious. I told the board about Michael’s breakdown.” Roberts shrugged. “To be fair, Carruthers hadn’t known about that.”

“What is going to happen to him?” Pendrick inquired. “How much authority does the Ethics Review Board actually have?”

“He can’t practice in Canada without a license, and he’s been barred from trying to acquire a new one here. In the States he’s on a watch list thanks to Dr. Darcy Garland of Buffalo. If he tries to enroll in an accredited medical school or to set up a practice, he’ll be challenged.”

“But otherwise he’s a free man.”

“That’s up to the police.”

“Where are Dr. Carruthers’ patient records?” Murdoch asked suddenly. “There’s a gentleman in the morgue who might have died from a reaction to his drugged tea.”

“We didn’t find any records other than his journal.” Roberts produced the small leather bound book. “Good luck deciphering it. Everything is written in code, and I don’t have time to sort it out. If you find anything useful, please let me know.”

“That’s it then?” Pendrick demanded. “He will not be prosecuted at all?”

“Not unless Detective Murdoch chooses to press criminal charges on his own behalf.”

They both turned to Murdoch, who had other things on his mind. “Did you ask about his accomplice? The individual who… touched me?”

“I did, and Carruthers insisted he worked alone. There was no sign in his office of anyone else being involved.”

“But the tape proved there was a second person there.”

“He claims that the voice we heard reading while you were being tormented was a recording. I didn’t tell them that I’d hypnotized you myself and that you’d remembered someone else.” Roberts brightened a little, which for him was transforming. “I tried hypnotizing Michael using the same three phrases, and it worked. I think we’ve made a breakthrough with his recovery.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Murdoch said sincerely.

As soon as Dr. Roberts had left, Murdoch became engrossed in Carruthers’ journal. Pendrick attempted to read over his shoulder, but gave that up after only a moment. “Good God, could the man write any smaller?”

Murdoch agreed with the sentiment if not the blasphemy. Everything in the journal including the dates was written in cramped, uncapitalized, two-letter abbreviations, and while normally this was the sort of puzzle Murdoch enjoyed, he’d really hoped for quicker answers.

It appeared they were going to have to purchase a blackboard.

He returned to work on Monday feeling more like himself that he’d had any right to expect, and that weekend’s assortment of crimes kept him occupied till late afternoon. He didn’t have time to visit Julia, but Murdoch felt he owed it to her to tell her what had occurred, so he stopped by the morgue just before her shift was due to end. To his relief, she wasn’t miffed at his late appearance.

“I’ve spoken to James,” she told him when he started to apologize. “He wouldn’t give me many details, but if Dr. Roberts is going to help you through this, I’m satisfied. _He_ knows what he’s doing.” Murdoch wondered if she were insinuating that the other two males in the equation didn’t. “Darcy also called to let me know that a dangerous individual has been removed from the medical profession.”

“Contacting him was a clever move,” Murdoch said. “Without his cooperation, and that of the Ethics Board in the States, Carruthers could very easily re-open his practice across the border.”

“Are you really all right, William? James sounded quite strange over the telephone when he was talking about your sessions.”

Murdoch leaned in to kiss her cheek, making her smile in surprise. “I will be fine, I promise, in large part thanks to you.” He met her eyes, glad to see only warm friendship looking back at him. “I’ll never doubt your judgment again.”

“See that you don’t,” Julia replied.

He went to his first appointment with Dr. Roberts straight from the station, hoping he wouldn’t be there for several hours. Fortunately the doctor’s schedule did not allow for extended sessions. He came out from behind his desk to sit in a chair next to Murdoch’s, but otherwise they spoke very much as they always had.

“Have your nightmares returned?” he asked first.

“No, not as such.” Unseen figures tended to hover on the edges of Murdoch’s dreams over the last two nights, but they hadn’t come close enough to alarm him. “Knowing what they were about seems to have ended their terror.”

“Have you and Mr. Pendrick been able to have sexual relations without incident?”

Murdoch nodded, not prepared to be explicit about how he and Pendrick had celebrated the termination of his treatment. “Yes. I didn’t hurt him.”

Roberts crossed his legs casually. “You do understand that it was never about hurting your partner, don’t you? You were being conditioned to associate male genitalia with ugliness and pain, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Murdoch had wondered about that. “Was I causing him pain because he has male parts, or was it because I was associating sex with pain?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I was confused.”

“And now?”

“Now I know that the pain had nothing to do with him, and nothing really to do with sex at all.” He frowned, considering something that had crossed his mind more than once. “The only effect Carruthers’ treatment could have had on me, aside from bringing about a mental breakdown, was to turn me away from James. I’m not attracted to males in general, so there was no point in conditioning me to find them repulsive.”

“You find no other males attractive?” Roberts asked. He made a note in the file he held, but otherwise didn’t break eye contact. “Since you’ve become involved with Mr. Pendrick or ever?”

“Ever. Until James, I had no idea I was homosexual.”

“Interesting. Are you familiar with a psychiatrist named Freud?”

Murdoch was indeed. “Yes, he studies dream symbolism, doesn’t he?”

“He does much more than that,” Roberts stated. “Dr. Freud has a theory about human sexuality that might appeal to you. He claims that we all innately ‘bisexual’. No one is born heterosexual or homosexual; we make that choice based on myriad influences in our childhood. According to him, it remains a choice throughout our lives, but most people establish their identity in one category or the other and stay there.”

“I don’t think most homosexual men believe they have a choice,” Murdoch pointed out.

“Not while they’re trapped in the identity they’ve created for themselves. However, you and Mr. Pendrick may be the exception. I know something of his history. Prior to meeting, both of you were in satisfying heterosexual relationships. If you hadn’t met him, who do you think you would be with today? A man or a woman?”

Murdoch had no doubts. “A woman. If James hadn’t propositioned me at the exact moment he did, I would never have looked twice at a man.”

“Yet you label yourself homosexual.” Roberts gave him time to respond, but Murdoch was stymied. “Perhaps bisexual is a more appropriate term for you.”

“But since I’m with James, I have no interest in women either,” Murdoch protested. “I have no interest in anyone but him.”

“That’s a decision made with your head and your heart, not your libido. And judging by what I know of you, your libido has never had an equal vote.”

That was true. Until Pendrick came into his life, Murdoch had done his best to banish his libido to an isolated cell much like a monk. “Then am I bisexual because I could be attracted to either men or women, or am I homosexual because I’m committed to a man?”

“Why do you have to be one or the other?”

Murdoch mulled that over, and arrived at a different conclusion entirely. “Dr. Roberts, I think I’m going to enjoy your form of therapy.” 

*****

When he got home for dinner, Murdoch found the house empty. Pendrick had left him a note on the dining room table that simply said, ‘Don’t wait for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’ Since Murdoch wasn’t too hungry, he decided to use the time to work on deciphering Carruthers’ journal.

His partner had shown an aversion to the doctor’s writings, so Murdoch had spread his papers out around the music room rather than in the library. He’d already compiled a list of words and terms he was sure of, such as ‘wm’ standing for William and ‘pv’ standing for Personal Viewer, as well as a list of words he was almost sure of. Many of the connecting words were easily interpreted as adjectives or verbs. It was the unknown nouns that troubled him. For instance, the abbreviation ‘st’ always occurred in conjunction with the terms ‘lf hd’ and ‘rt hd’, which Murdoch was certain stood for left and right hands. There was no indication whether ‘st’ was a name or something else, but it now symbolized his mysterious tormentor, and he was determined to find some clue in the journal that would lead him to the missing letters.

He was transcribing a passage involving what he suspected was Andrew Jacoby’s treatment when Pendrick came in. The latter frowned upon seeing what Murdoch was doing, but didn’t comment on it. “Have you eaten?”

“No. How did your meeting go?”

“What meeting?”

Murdoch stood up and followed him to the dining room, where they automatically went through the movements of setting out their evening meal. “Isn’t that where you were?”

Pendrick didn’t explain till they were seated. “I was at Carruthers’ office.” Murdoch set down the fork he’d just picked up. “He wasn’t there, nor was anything else you described. The entire space had been emptied out.”

“By the Review Board?”

“No, I called Dr. Roberts, and he said they don’t do that. Carruthers must have done so himself, although he was ordered not to return there.”

“Why did you go?” Murdoch asked.

“I was hoping to find evidence to convict him of some sort of crime, even if it was merely dealing in pornography. All of that was gone, along with the Personal Viewer, the Victrola, the tea, anything that could link him to that place.”

“Dr. Roberts must have his home address –“

“He does, and I went there too.” Pendrick sounded hard, and Murdoch knew he’d actually hoped to encounter Carruthers, not just pick through his belongings. “His flat was also empty. The man is gone.”

“That’s not surprising. He couldn’t earn a living in Toronto anymore.” As he spoke, Murdoch recalled a detail he’d forgotten since his and Carruthers’ first meeting. “Actually, that might not be an issue for him. He once told me he was privately funded.”

“By whom?”

“I have no idea.”

“Who would pay for him to put men through that sort of ordeal?”

“A grateful homosexual man who thought he’d been cured? A vain woman who wanted all men to lust for her? Someone who…” He stopped as a horrific thought occurred to him. “Someone who got something in exchange.” Pendrick drew in his breath sharply. “The opportunity to indulge in some perverse sexual behavior without ramifications?”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“No, I can’t,” Murdoch agreed. He wasn’t going to be able to eat his dinner if he continued thinking along those lines, so he deliberately changed the subject. “My appointment with Dr. Roberts was very interesting. Apparently you and I aren’t homosexual.”

“How did he determine that?”

Murdoch explained Freud’s theory and the other ideas they’d spoken about. Pendrick listened with an odd quirk to his lips, and when the meal was over, suggested they adjourn to the library.

“The other place I went today was to a framer,” he remarked as they entered that room. “I’ve been contemplating adding some artwork to the walls. They’ve been bare far too long.”

“What a good idea -” Murdoch began, then saw what his partner was referring to. Matted and framed, Murdoch’s timeline of their love affair now held the place of honor on the wall opposite Pendrick’s desk. “You can’t hang that there!”

“Why not? Since you and I aren’t homosexual, what objection can there be?” Pendrick stood back to admire it, then glanced at Murdoch. “You should see your face, my dear.”

“Then you _are_ joking?”

“Of course. We’ll hang it somewhere more private.”

Murdoch couldn’t imagine where that would be, since the servants had the run of the house when their employers were away, but he’d argue that later. Now that his alarm was over, he was incredibly touched that Pendrick had held onto what was essentially a doodle. Moving into his lover’s arms, he thanked him with a kiss.

“In case you were wondering, I’m feeling extremely flexible this evening,” Murdoch said, attempting an innuendo.

Pendrick grinned and promptly dipped him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd only seen a few episodes of season 4 when I began writing this series. This story was written before I saw the episode in season 5 that dealt with hypnotism or Dr. Roberts' fate. In any case, my 'Dancing in the Light' series bears no relation to canon after 'Buffalo Shuffle', and it's just an annoying coincidence that they keep using my ideas ;)


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